


Burned Out

by IShouldUpdateMore



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Evil Keith (Voltron), F/F, F/M, M/M, Vigilante Keith (Voltron), Villain Keith, cop allura, hero Shiro, hero/villain au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 213,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldUpdateMore/pseuds/IShouldUpdateMore
Summary: Keith lies low as the super villain of the town, known for burning his victims alive in their homes, his weapon of choice being a can of gasoline and a packet of matches.Shiro lives bold as the millionaire secret hero of his town, fighting Keith without knowing that he's the one that he hates the most.They fight for the opposite sides but Shiro is clueless to the true identity of the vigilante under secret orders from anonymous higher ups. Keith, on the other hand, is a little less clueless.





	1. The Black Paladin

The wet streets danced with the dramatic flashes of red and blue from the police car, the pavement glistening as the rainwater reflected back the amber of the street light along with the police car’s guarish flicker. Calm voices murmured into the soft night, the two police officers -- one of which being the captain of the more dominant of the precincts in the city -- discussing in low voices while a third and a fourth escorted the woozy criminal into the further off police car. Their tones seemed collected enough, but it was easy to see the captain's frustration in her posture or her stiff hand gestures as she spoke to her detective. Her quiet yet tense words were picked up easily -- as clear as a bell to Shiro’s tech equipped ears. 

She was talking about him. 

But not him him. 

“The Black Paladin strikes again, and we still don’t have anything on him,” she had been saying, the words convincing Shiro to stay where he was, crouched beside the cement slabs of a staircase to the apartment building the before which the scene was displayed. “This is getting ridiculous. He’s made a fool out of every precinct and task force that has gone after him -- I’m not going to let him make a fool out of mine.”

“We could ask the commissioner for more funding towards a task force?” the other officer -- Shiro assumed he had been the sergeant -- suggested. “If he’s really that much of a problem.” 

The captain gave a scoff. “Iverson wouldn't give me a penny.” She reached up a hand to rub her temple, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun behind her ear, the white color of it nearly luminescent in the night. “This is all just one big headache.” 

Just as Shiro leaned in, interest piqued at the mention of Iverson, another voice chimed in his right ear -- loud and accompanied with the sounds of something crispy getting munched on just next to the microphone. 

“God. Captain Allura sure is pretty. Don’t you think?” 

Shiro rolled his eyes and pulled back into the alleyway, creeping a good distance from the street and pressing himself against the cold brick of the buildings wall, the shadow nearly eating him and his outfit of black all up in its concealing darkness. “For a girl, I guess,” he murmured quietly. “What are you eating? It better not be the cereal, Matt. I told you that was for breakfast.” 

“Dude, my only defense against the munchies is Captain Crunch. You know this,” Matt said from his side. There was a faint rustling of plastic, and more sounds of chewing. Shiro made a face.  
“You mean you just helped me take down this guy while you were high?” he asked, not exactly surprised as he leaned off of the building and made his cautious way along the shadows, watching the darkness for anything to trip over as he snuck his way deeper into the alleyway. 

“Well I’m not high anymore.”  
Shiro shook his head a little. “If I didn't need you, I’d report you and your weed to the police.”  
There was an offended gasp from the other side. “You would never!” came the melodramatic reply.  
Shiro just snickered, and continued on. 

His car was parked deep in the belly of an underground parking facility -- Shiro managed to sneak down there and into an unoccupied elevator with incredible ease with Matt in his ear and his visor’s intel displayed before him in that computerized hue. All the cameras were avoided or deactivated. All the dash cams were scrambled for a second or so as Shiro moved past them. Matt’s tech worked considerably well, after all. Especially with Shiro’s money channeling his creative genius. 

The second he had slipped his way into the dark, dismal sort of elevator, the light above him spluttering as it hung onto it’s last bit of yellowing light, Shiro began to let go of his alter-ego. He set the bag he had been carrying over his shoulder onto the ground, pressed the emergency stop button -- the old elevator groaning and shrieking to a stop -- and reached up for his mask. His finger pressed into a button just beneath the jaw, and the airtight clasp hissed open. Shiro reached up and pulled the thing from his head, bringing it down and turning it so he could peer into the dimmed eyes. Black, like his suit, with red and blue markings along with piercing yellow eyes as the visor, the protective armor coming down all the way to his nose before breaking off into a metallic glass visor to cover his mouth. Thin contour lines carved into the incredibly strong yet impossibly light material with the design of a lion’s face and maw. Shiro always thought such a look was a bit over the top, especially with the little fangs, but again -- Matt’s creativity wasn’t something Shiro felt the need to put an end to. 

Once Shiro had set his mask down at his feet, he began to deactivate his armor. Protective chest piece, hip piece, arm and leg plates, and boots, all black and lined with silver and an iridescent blue he could control on command, began to power off and fall loose around the tighter yet comfortable undersuit. Shiro pulled out some jeans and a pullover from his back, replacing them with his now listless armor and his mask, and slipped them on along with some old sneakers. An odd look for a millionaire if he was caught in the open, sure, but it was late. Safe for casual wear. Once he was dressed in his civilian attire, Shiro started the elevator up again, and it began to descend. 

All the while, Matt chatted in his ear from that pesky little communicator.  
“So, are we going to talk about how that guy almost killed you?” he had asked once Shiro hit the level he had parked on -- the garage completely empty as he strolled out into it, the sounds of his footsteps echoing about him as he walked. 

“What are you talking about?” Shiro asked, speaking louder now that he was alone. He passed by a security camera, pausing to make sure Matt disabled it, and then continued on, a hand reaching up to his ear to push the comm in a little deeper. “I won that fight.”  
“You almost got shot.”  
Shiro rolled his eyes. “I always almost get shot. I’m used to it,” he said, reaching into his bag for his car keys. A simple black beamer sat at just a few more parking spots away from him. It wasn’t a handsome car by far -- none of his patrolling cars were. But that was better for not drawing attention. “Besides, he only skimmed my leg. Your armor took care of it, and if for some reason it wouldn't have, it would be nothing but a flesh wound.” Shiro clicked a button on his keys, and the car’s lights flashed. Shiro strolled up to it, and opened up the trunk. 

“A flesh wound someone could notice,” Matt pointed out, chowing down on cereal from his end again.  
Shiro reached down to the felt bottom of his beamer’s trunk, running his fingers along the seams in search for a lip of some sort. “Who could possibly notice?” Shiro asked with a laugh.  
“You have personal trainers. And you go to the spa every Friday you don’t work. And those robes are skimpy.” 

He ignored Matt’s comments. Shiro’s fingers caught onto the lip. He smirked, and pulled open a secret flap, revealing a handsome computer of Matt’s own design. Shiro opened up the laptop, and got to work, fingers flying madly across the keyboard.  
“What are you typing up?”  
“Well, for starters, I’m crossing our old friend off my list of bad guys to take down,” Shiro hummed, leaning away from his laptop and rifling through his bag again. “And then I’m going to see what this little flash drive I snagged has to say about you-know-who.”

There was a beat of silence. “Holy shit. You think that’ll really have info on him?” Matt asked. “Why didn't you say something? And who the hell carries around flash drives anymore?”  
“Didn't want to spoil the surprise,” Shiro said, his tone a bit smart as he plugged in the flashdrive to his computer. “And ‘you-know-who’s’ cronies just don’t understand the cloud like you and me, Matt.” He typed in some more codes, cracking past the weak defenses of the little drive. A loading pop up flashed upon his screen, and Shiro’s proud features turned a little sour. “Oh. This won’t be done for a few more hours…” He flicked his eyes to the little clock at the corner of his laptop. “Oh wow. It’s already one in the morning.” Shiro closed the laptop, closed the hidden flap, and then finally closed the trunk as a hole before making his way to the front of the car.

 

“But what about-?”

“‘You-know-who’ will just have to wait. I need to be getting home -- there’s a company brunch tomorrow. And I have dinner at six.”

 

Matt made one of those infuriating sorts of ‘ohhs’ one only may hear while he’s in seventh grade. “Dinner with Curtis, huh? I almost forgot,” he hummed, the disgustingly smug tone of his voice making Shiro stop in his tracks. 

“It isn’t a date,” Shiro muttered, blush rising hot in his face. “A friendly dinner. We’re friends. Coworkers. It’s nothing serious.” 

 

“Oh come on Shiro! Just call it what it is!” Matt prompted in his ear, earning a groan from Shiro. “This is healthy for you. You’ve been lonely since high school. Just let it happen -- let yourself get some loving, man. And maybe even some extra loving if you know what I-”

“Alright, shut up,” Shiro said, reaching up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I’d never have sex with Curtis, Matt. He’s my friend-” 

“You’re right. He gives off bottom vibes anyways-”

“Matt!” Shiro’s face was hot. “Shut up. Please. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing. I making sure of it…” 

 

Matt went quiet. “How?” he asked. When Shiro didn't answer, the chewing stopped, and the voice grew louder -- closer to the mic. “What do you mean?”

“I… I’m inviting Keith to come too.” 

“You’re what!” Shiro flinched at the volume of Matt in his ear. 

“Keith is cool! Why wouldn't I invite him?” 

“You’re literally cock-blocking yourself with your edgy basket case? Really?” 

 

Shiro gave a tight frown. “Don’t talk about him like that, Matt,” he said, tone a little bit more serious. “Keith isn’t a basket case and I’m not using him so I don’t have sex. I was nervous… Keith makes me feel better when he’s around. I’d just rather him there with me, you know?”

Another soft silence. “Right. I’m sorry, Shiro. You do you, man,” he said. “Besides, if anything, I’m your druggie basket case.” 

Reaching for the door handle of his beamer, Shiro smiled a little, nodding. “I’ve been told I am the basket case ringleader,” he hummed, pulling the creaking door open. “It’s not like I can…”

 

He trailed off, straightening up in a sort of snapping motion. Chills washed over him in what felt like literal waves -- goosebumps crawling along the flesh of his neck and his back. Shiro’s stomach turned and churned inside of him, eyes growing wide before instantly narrowing. He then moved quickly, slipping into his car and slamming the door closed as if nothing was wrong. Matt questioned him in his ear, rattling on about Shiro’s sudden silence and the picking up of his heart rate. Shiro ignored him however, eyes scanning along the dark shadows of the garage.

 

“Scan for heat signatures, Matt,” Shiro said, cutting Matt off during a comment about Shiro’s blood pressure. “I feel eyes on me.” 

There was a silence -- a slight tapping of a keyboard from Matt’s side. “You’re all alone as far as I can tell. Nearest heat signatures are two floors up and…” Matt trailed off, the silence accompanied by more tapping. “Cameras are showing its a drunk couple stumbling around and trying to find their car. So yeah. You’re all alone.” 

 

Shiro stayed quiet for a moment or two, still watching his surroundings carefully. As carefully as he could. “You’re sure?” he asked softly, trusting Matt and starting the car despite his question. 

“Positive,” Matt’s voice chimed. 

 

The engine grumbled, the beamer rattling a bit as it kicked to life. The radio flicked on, and Shiro instinctively reached to press for station two -- classic eighties. He turned the knob to lower the volume, and geared the car into reverse. “Alright,” he said, voice back to normal. There was still a sizzle of a nerve somewhere deep in his stomach, but Shiro disregarded it. “Must have been my anxiety or something.” 

“That’s alright, Shiro,” Matt said, quick to jump on the assurance. “Just get home and get some sleep buddy. You’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll leave the call now -- I think I might sleep in the lab tonight though. Fingers crossed I don’t eat all of our Captain Crunch.” 

 

Shiro smiled, pulling out of his parking spot. “Fingers crossed,” he echoed, crossing the fingers of his free hand for good measure. “I’ll see you tomorrow before brunch. Good work tonight, Matt. Wouldn't have been able to do it without you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m great. Goodnight, Shiro.” 

“Goodnight, Matt.” 

 

Matt’s line clicked away, and Shiro was left with his old beamer with her tinted windows and her eighties music as he navigated his way out of the garage, pretending the hair on the back of his neck still didn't prickle… pretending he still didn't feel those eyes… wherever they were…

 

“Any more news?”

 

“What, are you watching him again? Come on, Keith, you need to get back.”

 

Keith didn’t respond. Right now, he was settled in the shadows a safe distance from the parked car, his eyes fixed on that vehicle and the man sat inside. ‘The Black Paladin’, what a fucking name. He watched him almost every night at this point- just supervising. Studying him and his routine. Gathering his intel. In theory it was a good idea- he could check on his nemesis while being a safe distance away but when he heard comments about himself- made by Matt mostly but sometimes joked about by Shiro- it made him feel some sharp sting.

 

He was the you-know-who Shiro was referring to. A masked vigilante with no known name- as of yet, he hadn’t decided on one- and no specific target. He did what he felt was right when he wanted and regardless of the extremes he had to go through to do it. Today he was taking a break to do some recon. He needed to figure out a little more about Shiro and learn what he knew about him. It was safe so far, he was sure. Not only did he not know anything, but he also seemed to be oblivious to the eyes staring at him. That was the good thing about the suit he wore- it fucked with the sensors Matt used to check for heat signals and made him invisible. It scrambled cameras, too, which made him almost invisible. 

 

Lance had designed it- with some help from a few partners that he refused to name- and had even given it a cool black and purple colour scheme that fit with Keith’s preferences. It was neat.

 

When he figured that it was pretty much safe and Shiro didn’t know enough about him to draw any conclusions, he spoke again.

“I’m coming back,” he said as he got to his feet and began to the window. They were only a few floors up so he quite happily slid off of the ledge. When he settled on the floor again, unharmed, he approached a blue car parked nearby and slid into the passenger side. He tugged the mask off of his head and pulled a jacket on over his suit, covering it up enough for nobody to really care. He turned to face Lance. “Any news?”

 

Lance, sitting in the drivers side, turned the keys in the ignition and began pulling out of his parking spot. 

“None. The police don’t suspect anything and all conclusions they’ve drawn are useless. No developments on improving the suit, either. Green and Yellow haven’t gotten back to me about anything yet.” Lance had made it a habit to give his friends nicknames. He stuck to a colour theme for those closest to him. All Keith knew about the two was that they were close enough to Lance to deserve a colour-coded name and that they were pretty damn clever if they could make him these suits. He didn’t care too much about their identities, though. As long as they were on his team he had no reason to fuss. Lance kept Keith anonymous to his friends so it was only fair to keep that mutual. “So, Red, where to now?”

 

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Keith took a cigarette from a pack stashed in the glovebox and rolled down the window as he lit it. He lit another one and passed it to Lance, who accepted it without hesitation.  
“And I told you that I didn’t care.”

 

Keith grunted a little in response but didn’t say anything else, his gaze fixed on the road. Silence settled between them for a few long moments before Lance spoke again.

“How’s the puppy?”  
“Which one?” Keith asked under his breath. “Shiro or Kosmo?”  
“I call Kosmo by his name. I was talking about Puppy,” Lance muttered, steam billowing past his lips with each word. Keith smiled a little.

“Ah, same old Shiro. He’s still as clueless as ever about who’s under the mask. He’s going on a date with Curtis tonight but he kept insisting it was chaste and apparently he’s inviting me. Matt said he was cockblocking himself.” He took another long drag of the cigarette, watching buildings drift by despite being blinded by the glaring neon signs outside of all kinds of shops.

 

Lance nodded.  
“So the Puppy doesn’t want a taste of Bone and Anime is trying to tell him that he should get it?” he asked, licking his lips as he leant back in his chair. Lance never settled on a nickname for Curtis and something about that brought a smile to Keith’s lips. Today it was Bone, last time it was Treat, and god knows what it’d be next time. It just made it easier for Lance to talk about these things to people who weren’t involved without putting people at risk. It made Keith trust him a hell of a lot more.

“Anime is a prick, man. He’s been saying some shit about me.”  
“Oh? Please, do tell. I’d love to hear it.”

 

Keith gave him a grin.  
“Ah, nothing serious. Said I was Shiro’s ‘Edgy basket case’ but nothing else. Shiro stuck up for me, anyway, so it wasn’t too big of a blow to my ego.”  
“That sucks,” Lance said. “You really need something to humble you around now. You’re getting far too cocky for your own good. You were in plain sight of his car today, man, you’d be lucky if he didn’t-”  
“Just drop me off here. I’m gonna get some booze and walk back.” Keith didn’t want to talk about this. Lance had already warned him of his growing cockiness every day for about four weeks now.

 

“Red, come on, I just don’t-”  
“I told you to drop me off, Lance,” Keith hissed, getting out the car the second it had slowed down and storming off, bag over his shoulder. He went to the nearest liquor store and picked up some whiskey before starting back to his house, which was a shabby little hut only a block or so away. 

 

He arrived unharmed and poured himself a glass of whiskey before taking a long shower and getting into bed. He left his phone on the bedside table and lay there, staring up at the ceiling for hours. By the time he finally fell asleep, the birds had begun to chirp outside.

 

~~~

 

Shiro knocked lightly on the old wood of the door before him, cautious and a bit awkward with it -- he was used to doorbells, of course, not the plain old doorways of an apartment building. If anything, he was used to Keith just visiting him, not the other way around. Shiro almost didn't remember what room number Keith had lived in, it had been so long since he had last visited. But it came to him as he strolled along the dark hall of Balmera Apartments, some of the yellowing ceiling lights flickering dully behind him as he went. S6 -- that was Keith’s number. S6. He knocked just below the tarnished gold number and the little peephole, waiting a few anxious seconds before knocking again. 

 

He would have just called… but Keith wasn’t answering. He didn't answer the text he had sent about dinner, and then he didn't answer the following three. And then he didn't answer the two calls. Matt assured Shiro it was nothing -- Keith probably just forgot to charge his phone, or maybe he was sleeping in late -- but that didn't mean Shiro could just go on without checking up on him. There was the whole wanting him to go to dinner, sure, but then there was that deep sense of worry planted at the base of his gut when it came to Keith and Keith’s safety. Especially now that Shiro had been sticking his neck out into more dangerous areas with You Know Who and… 

 

And the other can of worms he didn't feel like opening. 

 

Shiro shook his head quickly, and knocked again -- louder, harder. “Hey, uh, Keith?” Shiro called through the door, shuffling a little. He wore a handsome sort of outfit for dinner, which would be in about two hours and thirty minutes. A fresh, white button up along with a sleek, gorgeous black pull over, and then black slacks. Over his shoulder he had his bag, of course. He always had some sort of bag, whether it be his alter-ego’s or his lunch’s. Right then it had been his laptop bag incase he received an emergency call from his company. Shiro never believed the phrase ‘don’t bring your work home with you.’ There was too much to get done in life for breaks. 

 

“Hey, I have a key… I can just let myself in, if you don’t want to get up,” he said, reaching for the keys in his pocket. “I just wanted to check in on you. And I had a question, actually. Just, uh…” Shiro trailed off, looking to his key. “I’ll let myself in.” 

 

He did. Shiro opened the door, and, hearing no holler of protest, slipped in and closed it behind him. The apartment was small, maybe three rooms in all if one would count the bathroom. Shiro looked in the direction of Keith’s bedroom, and offered a slight smile as he set his bag down on the small dining table with only enough space for two. “I swear, Keith, it’s literally four in the afternoon. You better not be sleeping.”

 

But, unfortunately for Shiro, that’s exactly what he was doing. Late night after late night of the typical villain-vigilante business added to barely being able to fall asleep in the first place meant that right now his body was making the most of the sleep it could get. He was in his bedroom, bundled up under a ton of blankets, dreaming quite contently. His phone had gone off for every call and text, not plugged in but still on around 15%, and yet he’d slept through all of them. 

His body was contorted into an awkward position and he snored slightly, the clothes that he’d planned on wearing for the meal (just blue jeans and a clean hoodie) were sitting on a chair in the corner, untouched and neatly folded.

His room was a mess. Aside from the countless cans of monster energy or redbull littered around, Keith had empty food packets and dirty clothes just strewn about. At this point, he didn’t care too much about having a tidy room or a tidy house. His dad wasn’t alive to tell him off for it and his mom was always off on army business. He had nobody to tell him to tidy up and nobody that he had to impress that he wanted it tidy for. The mess seemed to be mostly contained to his room, though- aside from the occasional stray wrapper or pile of pizza boxes- which was good. It meant that anywhere else was habitable for visitors.

Shiro knocked on the bedroom door before entering, of course, but his paranoia overcame his manners, and he didn't wait for an answer. Slowly, Shiro eased the door open and peeked inside, scanning about the messy room with a faint look of concern before he spotted the bed and a bundle of blankets. There was a quick movement, and Shiro spotted the head of Kosmo poking out of the nest Keith must have called a bed. Shiro grinned at him, and waved, before making his careful way over to the bed -- being sure not to step on cans or crush half eaten bags of chips. 

He spotted Keith’s mess of hair in the jumble of blankets, and offered a soft sigh of relief. He leaned down a bit, and settled a hand on what he figured was Keith’s shoulder. Kosmo moved forwards a bit with a soft whine, and Shiro gave him a pet with his other hand as he patted Keith lightly.  
“Hey, Keith,” Shiro said, his voice low but loud enough to wake him. “It’s Shiro. And it’s also four in the afternoon. Time to get up, buddy.” 

A low and exhausted grumble escaped Keith and, after a few moments, his eyes opened to fix on Shiro. He rubbed his face.  
“Hnn-... F-Fucking… four?” he managed to murmur, feeling Kosmo sniff at his neck and lick his face as a good morning greeting. When he received a nod of confirmation, he grumbled a little louder and muttered ‘fucking four’ under his breath as if that would turn back time to make it a little earlier.

After a moment, he pushed Kosmo back and pushed himself to sit up. He was exhausted and starved and, of course, he naturally reached out to an unopened can of monster to help get him through the morning. “What are you doing here, Shiro? Haven’t you got, like, shit to do? And in better places than this?” he questioned absently as he brought the can to his lips and started to drain it. Oh, the heavenly fast juice. It was all he needed in order to function at this point.

“You weren’t answering my calls,” Shiro said softly, a gentle lecture in his tone, but a calm, content smile spread about his face. Whenever he would see Keith, a smile would cross his features -- the man just made him feel… better. He stood up straight, and watched Keith rub the sleep from his eyes. “I was worried about you. And yeah I’ve got, uh, stuff to do, but not for a few hours. And I wanted to ask you to come with... we can talk about it when your brain actually wakes up though.” Keith just nodded, though he already knew what the plan was.

Kosmo wriggled out from under the blankets and began to bark. He disappeared, going to the kitchen, and came back a moment later with his bowl in his mouth, growling and barking around it. Trying to get Shiro to make him something to eat. Keith set out food for him before he went to sleep but Kosmo must have eaten it already. Keith grumbled again, incoherently murmuring under his breath.  
“Can you feed Kos? I gotta… get dressed. And awake.”

Shiro gave a smile, and nodded. “Of course,” he said, giving Kosmo’s head a rub before taking the bowl from his mouth. “Do you still have the special dog food I got Kos for his birthday?” Shiro heard a grumble of assurance behind him, and snorted, moving out of Keith’s room and into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. 

He knew where Keith kept the dog food -- the long, vertical cabinet beside the refrigerator, the one with the faded scratch marks from Kosmo’s impatient claws -- and made his way right towards it, pulling it open and nudging the eager Kosmo away with his foot. Sure enough, the large bag of the number one veterinarian recommended dog food in the world (large enough to cost Shiro nearly one-hundred bucks) sat limply on the shelf beside Keith’s cheaper dog food brands, about half empty. Shiro reached inside of it, found the handle of an old, plastic mug Keith used for scooping, and shoveled out as much as he could. He dumped it into Kosmo’s bowl, and then set the bowl down beside an empty water bowl. With a sigh, Shiro went to refill that too, running it under the previously dripping faucet of Keith’s kitchen sink before setting it beside the happy Kosmo, who was quite literally wolfing down his afternoon breakfast. 

There was the sound of tired, shuffling feet behind Shiro, along with the opening and closing of the bedroom door, and he turned around, smiling again. Keith wore nothing but old blue jeans and a baggy hoodie -- the fabric worn so much that the loose neck hung down to Keith’s collarbone, exposing the pale skin of his neck and chest. Shiro, on instinct, moved over to him and began fussing with it, pulling back the hood so that the neck rose up a bit. Of course, this was done wordlessly, and Keith accepted it wordlessly. Keith was used to it, and Shiro wouldn't have listened if he argued anyways. 

“You look tired,” he said, reaching a hand up to brush the hair out of Keith’s face -- tucking a strand behind his ear. “I don’t even want to ask how much sleep you got last night. Staying up all night and sleeping all day is bad for your health.” Shiro could almost hear Matt calling him a hypocrite, but he had a rebuttal to the claim. Shiro just stayed up all night and worked all day and covered the effects with makeup and spas -- but he wasn’t going to tell Keith that, of course. He didn't want to give him any ideas.  
“You know that I can’t help it,” he muttered, pushing Shiro back slightly. “You know what I’m like. I went to bed at one but I didn’t get to sleep until five. And- before you ask- yes, I did leave my phone alone and no, I wasn’t doing anything that could have kept me up. I just couldn’t sleep.” He didn’t get a response, just a polite nod.

Shiro moved back, away from Keith, and started towards the dining table. He pulled a chair towards him, flipped it around, and sat on it backwards like -- the thin backrest between his spread legs, and his arms folded over the back of the wooden chair. Childish, sure, but again, he was used to Keith and Keith was used to him.  
“I’m going to dinner tonight with a friend,” he started, leaning his head forwards to rest on his arms. “Kind of last minute, but I thought maybe you could come? Fancy place, good food, and my friend is really nice. My treat.”  
“It’s Curtis, isn’t it?” he asked, almost tempted to call him Bone but knowing Shiro wouldn’t understand what he’d meant. “What happened with you two? Just mates one day but now you’re going somewhere fancy to eat? I don’t think I should go.” He already knew Shiro would argue in his favour but he couldn’t bring himself to just accept this. He didn’t want to go and be Shiro’s cockblock and it was no secret that he and Curtis hated each other. Something about him pissed Keith off and Curtis always hated that Keith was there like a fucking mood buffer every time he tried to have a date with Shiro.

He just didn’t like the idea of spending a few hours with Curtis, no matter who else was there. He’d liked Adam more but he’d ended it with Shiro a few months back over some argument Shiro never told him about.

Shiro blinked a little, and cocked his head. “We’re still just friends,” he said quietly, shrugging his shoulders. “I always take my friends somewhere fancy… unless they’re like you and they only want Steak and Shake or something.” He offered a soft snort as his little joke, and leaned up straight in his chair.  
“Listen, I get that you and Curtis aren’t exactly… acquainted, yet, but that doesn’t mean we can’t change that,” Shiro started, a little cautious as he spoke. “You’re my best friend, Keith, and it would be great if you and my other friend didn't give each other the cold shoulder whenever you’re together. Maybe a dinner out would help you warm up to him?”  
“Yeah, tell him that.”

He gave a soft sigh, and began to push up from the chair, stretching his arms a little with a soft grunt. He placed the cool steel hand of his prosthetic on the back of his neck, and rubbed at the soft knot of his muscle -- the one he had gotten from the fight the night prior. “Nevermind,” he said softly, shaking his head a little. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. We can hang out some other time. Hopefully soon. Work has been kind of…” Shiro gambled for the right word. “Stressful.”  
“I want to go, I just don’t want to have Curtis being a prick the whole time we’re together. It’s not my fault that he doesn’t know how to be subtle when he hates someone. I talk to people I hate all the time and I either make my hate obvious or I hide it with ease. Come on, man. You have to admit that he’s a little unreasonable when he’s around me.” Keith moved back a little, checking his phone was in his pocket before grabbing his keys. “Can Kosmo come? He gets restless and chews things up when he’s alone.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. “To… to the restaurant?” he asked, not really understanding whether or not Keith had been joking or not. “I… I don’t think so. Even if he was a service dog, they wouldn’t let him in there. These kinds of places only allow purse dogs and stuff, and that’s if you give the manager a little extra something.” Keith shrugged a little, deciding that he’d just have to leave Kosmo here and hunt down whatever he’d chewed up when he got back.

He made his way over to the counter, and lifted his bag up again, looping the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll make sure Curtis stays friendly. I’ll make sure you stay friendly too,” he assured in one final attempt at convincing him. “You got past all this with Matt, right? Curtis can’t be all that different. Sure he’s a little… different… than Matt is-” one had been a rich co-founder of a booming company, and the other had been a brainiac with a weed addiction, of course, “-but they’re both nice guys.” 

Shiro turned around to face Keith, offering a gentle smile. “So… yes or no? I’ll drive you over to my place for a bit so we can hang out beforehand. I have some work to get done, but it shouldn’t be too much. Just have to upload some statistics onto my laptop.” 

Nodding despite hating the idea, Keith started to the door.  
“Yeah. I mean- it’s not that big of a deal but don’t expect me to come every time. I know your friends talk shit about me a lot and I don’t want to give them more reasons to bully me behind my back.” He moved to the door and unlocked it, waiting for Shiro to catch up before he left. He locked the door behind him, calling goodbye to his dog before he started to Shiro’s car. It was a neat little thing, sleek and black and incredibly expensive.

Keith always felt bad when Shiro had to park his gorgeous car outside such a shitty looking apartment building. Honestly, if Keith had the money it cost to buy this car he’d be able to fix all the holes in the roof and get a new kitchen- one with an oven that actually worked and a tap that could change temperature. He might even be able to get new, clean clothes that didn’t have holes in and weren’t faded and stretched. But instead, he was broke and he was stuck in a shit apartment that he didn’t even have the motivation to tidy anymore.

Shiro tried to help, but Keith would push away each dollar. Even when Shiro would slip a few couple hundreds into Keith’s bank account, courtesy of Matt’s hacking skills, Keith would take it all out and leave the stacks on Shiro’s doorstep. The last few times he had done it, there’d been a sticky note with a frowny-face scrawled across it in heavy black ink. Shiro tried and he tried, but Keith would never accept it unless he had no choice. Of course, he couldn’t be evicted due to his mother’s benefits, but every now and again a pipe would burst or the heater would break, and Shiro would have to step in and sort things out. But other than that? Keith wouldn't take it. 

Shiro just wished he knew why. 

He opened the door to his car, and slipped in the driver’s seat, letting it clap to a close behind him. Luckily, no reporters or newsies or visible paparazzi seemed to notice him out and about that day -- whether it was the change of car (he normally drove a sleek black Corvette in public, not the Audi) or his odd destination, he found his path easy and uninterrupted all the way to the seat of his car. Matt had hounded him again and again to get a body guard of some sort to get the press off his tail, but Shiro could protect himself and talk himself out of it. Having someone on his back twenty-four-seven wasn’t exactly his idea of comfortable living. That was one of the reasons he drove himself around -- he didn't have a bodyguard to do it for him… 

Then there was that other reason, too. The main reason Shiro made sure he was always the one to drive. The reason Shiro wouldn't allow himself to be a passenger of any sort. The reason he couldn’t even ride the bus or a train without feeling sick. 

Yeah. That reason was the bigger one, he guessed.

Shiro clipped his seatbelt, and eased back into the comfortable leather of his seat, both hands on the wheel, his fingers drumming as he waited for Keith to buckle himself up as well before starting the car. A few moments passed, and Shiro figured it must have passed his mind. He looked confused when Shiro cleared his throat, and, understanding he had forgotten for what had to be the millionth time, Shiro gave a soft sigh, and turned in his seat.  
“Seatbelt, Keith,” he said, smiling a little once the look of recognition passed Keith’s features and he reached for his buckle. Shiro shook his head a little and sat straight in his seat, turning the keys in the ignition and letting the car come to life, the electric motor starting up with a handsome sort of hum. 

Keith just stayed settled in his seat, his phone soon buzzing. He picked it up and began to type, texting Lance.  
“Red is on his way to cockblock Puppy.” Something short and simple. Direct enough for nobody who looked at the message to understand. He wasn’t worried about Shiro reading his texts- not only did he understand that Keith had private shit on his phone but he was too scared when driving to take his eyes off of the road. His phone buzzed a moment later.  
“You agreed? Shit, man. Where u goin?”  
“Some expensive place Puppy knows. Never heard of it before tho.”  
“haha ur too poor to kno abt all the fancy places he goes to” The response came and Keith turned off his phone, tucking it into his pocket. He was cutting the conversation off there. He didn’t want to be bullied by Lance.

He turned his attention to Shiro.  
“So where is it? It’s not far, is it?” he asked, frowning. “And am I going to look stupid because I’m just wearing a hoodie and scrappy jeans? I won’t be in a room full of people wearing suits or some shit, right?” 

Shiro gave a soft smile, his eyes focused on the road as he drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road. “It’s called Shay’s,” he said, settling back against the leather of his seat. “It’s a nice place, but I’m sure you won’t be the only one in jeans. I only wore this because… well, you know me. I like dressing up.” A white lie for Keith’s sake. He was sure nearly everyone there would be dressed to impress… maybe he’d let Keith borrow a nice shirt before they left.  
They stopped at a light, and Shiro took one of his hands from the wheel, reaching for the stereo system of his car. It was automatically linked to his phone -- all Shiro had to do was tap the music app, and his playlists popped upon the sleek black screen of his car’s radio. Shiro tapped the shuffle but turned it down a few clicks so he could concentrate on the road.  
“If you want to skip something or play something, go ahead,” Shiro said, both hands back on the wheel, fingers drumming again as he waited for the light to change. “But none of that stupid ‘screamo’ garbage. Especially not while I’m driving.” Shiro smirked at him and let his gaze flick to Keith for a second or so, offering up a chaste little wink. 

Keith turned a little red at that. It wasn’t clear whether he was flustered from the winking or embarrassed from the joke.

The light changed to green, and Shiro eased forwards, looking both ways before continuing on the intersection. Shiro’s apartment was much deeper in the city, in one of the most expensive buildings. It was about fifteen minutes from Keith’s place. Shiro had every route mapped out in his head, of course, as he did with most of destinations.  
“So,” he said, smiling. “What were you doing all night last night, huh? You don’t expect me to believe you just sat there staring at the ceiling, do you?” 

“Oh, you know me. Selling drugs and having sex, the usual Keith behaviour.” He leant back in his chair, smiling a little. “I was just sitting in the park with Kosmo until late, clearing my head. Then I got back to bed and took half a decade to actually fall asleep.” He watched everything go by, frowning a little. “What about you? I know the difference between awake Shiro and coffee addict Shiro. You haven’t slept much, either.” He didn’t life his gaze to look at Shiro, knowing fully well what he was doing. He was just curious to see what Shiro would say. He was never too created with excuses- he’d either say it was business or that he was hanging out with someone. 

He was always the same predictable Shiro.

Maybe that was one of the reasons Keith liked him so much.

“Ah, I knew I wouldn't be able to hide it from you,” Shiro hummed, shaking his head a little. “It was a late night in the office. I’ll be official CEO of the company in three days -- there’s a lot to get done. And it’s kind of hard getting home with the press up my ass.” He gave a soft laugh and shook his head a little. “It’s alright. I have my cof-... do you hear that?” 

They were currently stuck in a soft patch of traffic, the sort of traffic where one is nearly bumper to bumper, but the line is moving along fine. Shiro lifted his foot from the gas pedal, and straightened up, straining his ears. In the distance, there was the gentle wail of police sirens. Nothing too strange for that part of the city, sure, but Shiro felt his gaze tug towards the rear view mirror, which was focused on his bag in the back seat. The bag. He flicked his stare to Keith, who was watching back rather curiously, and with a gentle muttering of a curse, he shook his head and stepped on the gas, catching up with the car in front of him. 

Part of him began to wish he left Keith at home as he listened to the sirens howl in the distance. His suit and mask sat so perfectly right behind him. If Keith wasn’t there, he could slip it on and help out in an instant… Shiro just hoped they didn't need his help…

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I thought they sounded closer. You know how I am. It’s not of a big deal.”

Keith just watched him for a few moments, sighing a little.  
“Yeah,” he muttered despite knowing everything that was going through Shiro’s head. “It’s not.”  
And he settled back down in his seat, staring blankly out of the window, and just waited for everything to pass. Hopefully this meal wouldn’t be anywhere near as miserable as he was thinking it would be. Hopefully he’d get back home, with Kosmo, pretty damn soon. He had a lot of business to take care of and only a few nights to do it in.

His next big heist was due in three days.


	2. You-Know-Who

Dinner couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start, really. 

To begin, Shiro and Keith had both been late. Late was something Shiro never liked to be, but traffic was horrid that night in the city due to a whole important intersection being closed down after a rather catastrophic bank robbery… one Shiro might have been able to prevent if he’d been able to suit up. The whole drive Shiro felt agitated -- paranoid for being so untimely, and disappointed in himself for not being able to help. An officer had died, and two bankers had been hospitalized. It was the work of a basic gang, and yes, they had been apprehended, but Shiro would have been able to do it before anyone got hurt or killed. The thought made his blood run cold when he watched the report on the television while Keith washed up for dinner. He had texted Matt to get on with researching the remaining members of the gang. Matt said he would just as soon as You-Know-Who’s files were done downloading. 

They had stumbled into the restaurant, Keith in his jeans but in a new shirt -- a red button up from a halloween costume Shiro had tucked away in his closet, it was the only thing that fit him properly -- and hurried to their table, which was in the far corner of the room. Curtis was already there, looking boredly through his menu when Shiro rushed up to his seat, nearly panting. 

“Curtis-” he started breathlessly.   
Smiling, Curtis held up a hand. “Don’t worry,” he had assured, voice soft and sweet as he spoke to the rather oblivious Shiro. “I saw on the news the roads were closed. I just wish you texted.”   
Shiro shook his head a little, and made a weak grab for his seat, tugging out from the table and plopping down with a long sigh. “Sorry,” he said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “I don’t text and drive.” Shiro nodded towards Keith. “Good news. Keith said yes. I meant to call and tell you…” 

Curtis let his gaze fall on Keith, and his attitude instantly soured. “Oh, that’s alright,” he said, voice a little tight as he flicked his eyes back down to his menu. “Let’s just say it was a… surprise…” Keith fixed Curtis with a glare at the stale comment, muttering something under his breath that got him a light shove from Shiro.

It really only got worse from there. 

As the night continued on, Shiro began to feel the urge to kick himself in the shin for not sitting in the middle -- for not sitting between the two masses of pure tension, to keep them and their sour attitudes from infecting and fueling the other. Shiro tried his best to keep the conversation fluid, but whenever Curtis would say something, Keith would roll his eyes. And then when Keith would add on a comment or a joke, Curtis’s jaw muscles would pulse and his lips would curl. It was worse than Keith and Matt when they had first met… and that was saying something. Shiro knew he would have to change the atmosphere quickly, or the tides regarding Keith and Curtis wouldn't ever turn in his favor. 

“Keith has a dog,” he had blurted somewhere during appetizers. They had calamari and oysters, along with a basket of freshly baked bread, still steaming from the oven. Shiro stuck with the squid, while Curtis ate the oysters. Keith was the only one who dug into the bread -- the other two seemed to be watching their carbs, but Keith’s metabolism made it so he didn't have to worry about weight gain. 

“I mean, Curtis has three,” Shiro continued once the attention had been focused on him. “Keith has some sort of breed that looks like a wolf. Might even be one, I wouldn't know, haha. Not a dog person.” Shiro really wasn’t. He had two cats: a blind, white Persian named Atlas, and a deep black and grey speckled Maine Coon named, uncreatively, Black. “But you both probably are. That’s something cool to have in common, I guess.” 

Curtis, uncomfortable but willing for the sake of Shiro, turned towards Keith, and offered a soft grin. “A mystery wolf dog?” he asked, a certain charming quality in his voice as he attempted conversation. “Could be a Northern Inuit? Or maybe just a husky? Oh, but I doubt it’s purebred… purebreds are hard to find. I should know, I have three. A Chow Chow, a Pharaoh hound, and a Tibetan Mastiff. The mastiff costed me nearly five-thousand.”  
“For a dog?” Shiro asked a bit judgingly from his side of the table.   
Curtis flashed him a smile, this one genuine and gentle. “And how much was Black?” he asked through a smirk.   
Shiro grinned. “You got me there.” 

Keith took out his phone, flicked onto photos and showed Curtis a picture.  
“Kosmo,” he said, flicking to a picture of him stood beside the dog. He was huge- tall enough for his head to be level with Keith’s chest. “176 pounds, pretty docile with me and people I like. I’ve had him since he was a puppy and he was barely the size of my hand.”

He knew what Shiro was doing, getting them to bond over pets, but he didn’t want to be totally cold and refuse to talk to Curtis when he liked to brag about how good Kosmo was. “He can be a bit of a handful sometimes,” he explained. “He likes to chew things when he’s left alone and he hates being in small spaces which is why I have to leave all the doors in the apartment open for him to explore. Shiro got me some premium dog food for him when I was running too low on money to get any of the cheaper stuff. It’s all he wants to eat now. How about your dogs? I imagine that they’re spoilt.” He said, muttering the last little bit.

It wasn’t meant as a malicious statement, it was moreover that he envied Curtis for having the money to adequately look after three expensive pedigree dogs, feed them perfectly, get them accessories and gifts and, hell, he probably gave each of them their own fucking room. Keith barely had three rooms in his house; the bedroom, the bathroom, and everything else was crammed into the main room. It was embarrassing to be somewhere this prestigious when it would take all the money he had to his name just to get one meal.

When Curtis or Shiro could probably buy the place for a fraction of their wealth.

Keith pulled his phone back when it buzzed with a text from Lance- the plans for that evening’s heist. A diversion would already be set up to draw out Shiro. When he left the restaurant, Keith would leave through the back and get his suit on to head off. Today’s target was Ladnock, a rich woman with shady connections in all kinds of places. Not only was her competition always suspiciously disappearing but he was sure that it would benefit many for her to disappear, too. Even one percent of her wealth could get Keith a new house, so he did plan on pocketing a little of her money while he was there.

And, hopefully, it would only be a matter of time before Shiro would be successfully distracted and the plan would commence.

Shiro frowned at Keith and shot him a glance, but he was too absorbed in whatever was on his phone to acknowledge it. Shiro then directed his attention to a rather sour looking Curtis, offering an apologetic sort of smile, which was answered with an impatient nod and an averting eyes. Shiro winced and looked down at his plate, the tension finally overcoming the table to the point Shiro couldn’t even attempt to fix it. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to sit in strained silence for long. 

Shiro’s phone, which was set up beside his plate so he could check for conference calls, began to buzz. 

He started at the sound, flicking his gaze down to his phone, the relentless buzzing causing his plate to shudder and the cutlery atop of it to clatter a bit. The caller ID read ‘asshole’, and Shiro remembered instantly why he had made that Matt’s contact name. He tapped the red button to hang up, and looked back to the table. 

“Sorry about that,” he said to the two curious stares.   
Curtis cocked his head. “Was it work?” he asked nervously, reaching into his pocket for his own phone. He stopped when Shiro shook his head, brow furrowing a bit. 

“It’s my friend. He’s at my place right now — he probably just ate all my cereal or something,” Shiro assured, shaking his head. His lips parted and his breath stuttered as if he prepared to speak, but an insistent buzzing cut him off again. Shiro gave a long sigh, and pressed the red button. It happened once more before the calls stopped and the attack of spam texts began. 

Shiro rolled his eyes and looked down at his screen, reading the texts as they appeared. With each one he felt his gentle annoyance fade, and a sense of serious concern overtook him. The texts read, in order, like so:

“SHIRO

SHIRO

SHIRO

ANSWER THE PHONE 

THE FLASH DRIVE DOWNLOADED. IVE GOT CODE RED INFO ON YOU KNOW WHO. 

CALL ME

SHIRO!!!!!!!”

“I have to take this,” Shiro murmured, standing up from his seat and grabbing his phone. 

Curtis looked up at him, wildly confused, hints of concern dancing in his features. “Is everything okay?”   
Shiro nodded, reaching into his pocket for his wireless comms and pressing them into his ears. “It’s just Atlas. She threw up. Matt doesn’t know what to do,” he said quickly. “I’ll be right back.” 

Then without another word Shiro stumbled off to a far corner, a good distance from any tables as he called Matt back. It only got a chance to ring once before Matt answered, his voice loud in Shiro’s ear, slurred as he talked around what had to be food.

“Shiro!” he shouted, the volume of his voice making Shiro flinch. “Holy. Shit. Code red. Code-fucking-red.”  
Shiro breathed in a deep sigh, lifting a hand to his head and rubbing his temple. “Talk to me, Matt,” he said quietly. “Tell me everything.”

Matt didn’t hesitate. “The flash-drive downloaded, and it gave me enough info to get into his main server,” he said, the sound of his voice and his chewing of what Shiro thought was popcorn both accompanied with the mad typing. “I won’t be here for long, someone’s trying real hard to get me out. They won’t be able to track my laptop though. I’m not an idiot- don’t worry.” 

“Get on with it, Matt,” Shiro muttered impatiently. “What did you find?”  
“What am I finding, you mean,” Matt corrected. There was the shuffling of something, and a new round of chewing. Shiro could definitely confirm it had been popcorn then. “All of this assholes assignments for the next week. You bet I’m taking pictures — the server blocks the screenshot action, but my tablet is working just fine.” More typing, more chewing. “I’ve got a target list and a suspected target list. It looks like they’re all rich fuckers with dirty hands… You-Know-Who has motives, but no morals.” 

Shiro furrowed his brow, thinking the new information over in his head. “What does this list look like?” he asked, heart suddenly beating rather hard in his chest.   
“I’m taking pictures Shiro, I’m not actually-…” Matt trailed off, and both the typing and the chewing stopped rather abruptly. “Oh shit. You’re on here.”  
“What?” Shiro cried. The surprised little shout echoed about the restaurant, attracting some attention. Shiro blushed a little, but he shook his head, too absorbed into the situation at hand to care. He spoke in a more hushed tone, however, when he continued. “What do you mean I’m on there? I’m not dirty.”

“But you’re a rich fucker,” Matt said, the typing continuing. “You’re not a target yet. Just a suspect. It says here that…” he trailed off, growing silent. “Oh shit, Shiro.”   
Shiro gave a huff. “What does it say?” he asked, impatient, the nerves making his skin crawl. 

“‘Suspected murder.’ They have here that you might have murdered your parents for their money.”

Shiro’s blood went cold. “What the fuck,” he seethed in a whisper. He wasn’t one for such vulgar language, normally… but the idea that someone would accuse him so such a thing…   
“I was eleven,” he growled.   
“I know, Shiro,” Matt answered, his voice soft.   
“I’m taking this guy down. How dare he-?”

Matt cut him off. “It isn’t him. It’s his higher ups — they give him a list and he takes them out,” he said, taking another handful of popcorn and chewing it furiously — about as furiously as he typed. “We’ve got to cut off the head, and the body will flounder… but it looks like we might be able to catch our little mystery man in the act tonight. He’s got a job. Sending it to you now.” 

Shiro’s pocket buzzed. He gave a firm nod, and stood up straight. “We’ll catch him. We’ll question him,” he said, beginning back to the table. “I’ll call you when I’m in my car. Text me any updates and print out those pictures you took.”   
“Alright buddy. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”   
“Yeah, talk to you in a bit,” Shiro answered, voice flat as he walked up to his seat. He slipped the phone from his pocket and hung up, reaching for his coat and slipping it from the back of his seat. He looked to the table, and offered a long sigh. 

“I am so sorry,” he said, voice tired as he addressed them. Tired and stressed — he made sure to add in a touch of nerves to keep his friends hooked. “It’s like work knew I was holding my phone. They just called — I have to write my report for last weeks stats and have it in by tomorrow morning. I haven’t even started yet.” Shiro turned to Keith, and paused, still slipping one of his arms into his sleeve. 

What was he going to do with Keith?

“Would you mind riding home with Curtis?” he asked, swallowing hard. Shiro winced, and looked up towards Curtis. “Would you mind driving him home? I-... I mean he could Uber but I don’t trust those kinds of things.”

Curtis offered a hesitant nod. Shiro smiled at him, and turned back to Keith. “Is that alright with you?”  
“What, now?” Keith asked, pushing his plate away. “Yeah. I guess. Just don’t expect me to give you gas money or something like that.” He got to his feet, pulling his jacket on. He didn’t want to continue the meal for any longer if Shiro wasn’t going to be there and he was pretty fucking sure that Curtis felt the same way.

His phone buzzed.  
‘Distraction successful’ was all it read. It was from Lance. He sent a thumbs-up in response but didn’t respond any more than that, turning his attention to Curtis and gesturing to the door before turning and leaving. He wasn’t going to waste time with anything else. He just wanted to get out of here. 

Curtis’s eyes were focused on Shiro, who had hurried away the moment Keith had said yeah. He began to stand up as well, hoping Shiro meant to pay before he left the building as he tugged in his coat. He followed Keith and made his way to the smaller man’s side, tense as he lead him away. 

Shiro has already disappeared. 

Keith got to Curtis’ car and waited for it to click unlocked before sliding into the passenger side. It was a black mercedes, with leather seats and a clean interior. Keith hated it. He hated being in it, too, with his filthy jeans and his uncomfortable button-up. At least he wasn’t wearing his hoodie- Curtis would have hated him more if he got dog hair everywhere.  
“Thanks,” he muttered to Curtis when he heard the other get in, taking his phone out of his pocket. He wanted to message Lance, to keep him posted.   
“No problem,” he said tightly, clicking his seatbelt. He didn’t bother telling Keith to do the same. 

‘Taking a ride home with Bone. he’s been pissing me off a lot today. How long till i gotta be at hers?’ he sent, turning his eyes to the window as they began pulling out of the parking space.  
‘50 mins latest. U gonna make it?’  
‘I’ll get Bone to drop me nearby, dw’

And he tucked his phone away back into his pocket, ignoring the occasional buzz that said Lance had texted him back. It wasn’t like anyone else messaged him, anyway, and even if it was, Lance had a specific buzz pattern. Shiro had a different one, too. He liked to be able to differentiate between everyone who was texting him. 

The drive back was long and quiet and Keith hated it. He got Curtis to drop him off on a road halfway between his apartment and where he needed to be, not wanting Curtis to see what his apartment was like. He was wearing his suit under his clothes, which had made it awkward when changing his shirt at Shiro’s house, but it saved him time and meant that when Curtis was out of sight he could start straight to Ladnock’s mansion. He walked quick, taking shortcuts through alleys and different routes, running his hands through his hair. He was just frustrated that that meal had been so shit and now he had to do something even shittier to Shiro.

The infiltration itself was easy.

He ditched the shirt and jeans behind a dumpster near the house, where Lance had left three canisters of gasoline and a packet of matches for him. He’d then scaled the wall, climbing in through an open window. Lance had already disabled the security cameras for him, which made it a hell of a lot easier. He checked his phone, Lance telling him exactly which room she was in and sending the floorplan. He’d even left a nice route for where to start and how to make his way up to her.

So, naturally, he brought up his cans of gasoline and left two in the room, going to the first floor with one can. He followed Lance’s plan, first covering the door with gasoline and then leaving a trail through each room, making sure the most flammable things in the room would be doused in it so the fire would spread quickly. The smell of it was thick and the fumes would have started to fuck him up if he wasn’t wearing his mask. He turned on the gas for the oven and pulled the door open, then starting slowly upstairs. He emptied the canister down the staircase before taking the second can. He moved the third to the bottom of the stairs and began to move from room to room again, pouring more gasoline into each room. He began to pocket things as he went now, taking little ornaments that would cost a fortune and putting them in a bag he stole, dropping them out the window to collect on his way back. 

Lance kept him updated but Ladnock seemed to be working in her study on the third floor, so Keith didn’t need to worry about whether or not he’d disturb her. He just focused on pouring gasoline wherever he could to ensure that the house would be up in flames the second that he lit his match. When the third can had been left behind, empty, he returned to the bottom floor. He wanted it to burn from the ground up so that she wouldn’t have a chance of being able to escape. As soon as he got to the bottom floor, however, a familiar face greeted him.

Well, a familiar mask.

The Black Paladin was here to stop him.

Shiro didn’t mean to be so late. He’d forgotten all about the traffic — he would have taken the back roads if his head wasn’t clouded with You-Know-Who and his fucking lists. The second he pulled out into the main street, he found himself bumper to bumper — the kind of traffic where one’s car simply wouldn’t move. He sat there for nearly fifteen minutes, finger drumming on the steering wheel, the address Matt sent to him already on his GPS, Matt yelling in his ear, telling him to go. His patience had worn thin after a while — so brittle and carved it had been to the point of snapping his nerves clean in half — and Shiro simply unbuckled his seatbelt, leaned back to snatch his bag, and ditched his car there in the middle of the street. 

So what if he was robbed. There was nothing important in that one besides some work stuff. He was rich — it didn’t matter. 

Shiro had flicked the hood of his coat up to cover his telltale hairdo from the public as he weaved around honking cars and into an alleyway. The suit was easy to put on — sure, he lacked the protective underlayer, but he couldn’t exactly strip bare right then and there, so the suit and tie would have to do. Shiro slipped on his mask, and made his way onwards, the visor mapping out the fastest possible route to You-Know-Who’s target. 

He was so caught up in his route, his ‘distraction’ didn’t even earn his attention. Not yet. 

So there he stood, before You-Know-Who himself, Matt swearing like mad in his ear at the sight of him through his visor camera. Shiro tensed, cocking his masked head forwards, they eyes of his mask bright in the dim light of the manner. He studied You-Know-Who’s suit, his visor scanner telling him the weak points and the danger zones. Matt rattled on about the stitching and the tech — he said none of it looked familiar. It all must have been made from some sort of scratch. Shiro tuned him out easily, though, moving forward slowly. Stalking, almost his muscles tense, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched behind his mask. 

“Arson?” Shiro asked, his voice modified by his mask. “Really? Again? What is it with you and fire?”   
“It’s easy to use,” Keith replied, taking a step forward. “But I don’t want to waste my time with small talk. Let’s skip to me kicking your ass and setting this place on fire, alright?”

Shiro tensed and grit his teeth a little, stopping where he stood and lowering his head a bit -- poising himself for an attack. He’d take up the defense first. He wouldn't be the one to lunge -- he never was. It was how he fought. Take on the defensive, let the other tire themselves out, and then spring on them nice and simple… only that fight, for some reason, You-Know-Who didn't take the hint. He waited, tense like Shiro, the soulless eyes of his mask glittering in the faulty lighting. Shiro scowled, knowing they would stand there forever if he didn't step out of his comfort zone… he could see the shape of the matches in the side pocket of You-Know-Who’s suit. If Shiro didn't act soon, he might have just gone ahead with his plan without consequence.

“Aim for the throat and the waist. Angle your punches up so you hit ribs. Those are his weak spots,” Matt had been saying in his head. “It’s likely with his tech, he knows your weak spots as well. Protect them.” 

Shiro didn't say anything, but he took Matt’s warning as an initiative to lunge. 

And the fight began.

He started forwards quickly, using one of his legs to launch from the ground towards Keith’s position, but then using the other to angle himself away from Keith’s defensive punch -- trying to curve around him so he could attack from behind. Keith was fast -- Shiro noticed this in the nick of time. He lashed out with his elbow as Keith turned, catching him on the hard surface of his mask. The blow didn't to any physical damage to either of them, but it seemed to disorient Keith long enough to throw a sharp punch to Keith’s side -- fast but painful, the jab inciting a gasp from Keith, and then a low growl. He retaliated with an uppercut, slamming his gloved fist beneath Shiro’s mask and causing Shiro’s jaw to snap to his close -- the action nearly fatal for his tongue.

Shiro blocked the next two punches, earned one rather painful blow to his side, and then swept with his leg. He caught Keith’s ankle with enough force to unsteady him, and then lunged forwards, wrapping his arms around Keith’s torso and using him to buffer his own fall as they slammed onto the carpet. The air seemed knocked out of Keith for enough time for Shiro to push up, straddling the squirming villain beneath him, and raising a hand up to deliver a harsh blow to Keith’s throat. 

Arms crossing over his face, Keith made sure to keep his chin tucked to protect his throat. He knew it was weak- widely speaking, the throat was a weak spot for everyone- and he knew that Shiro was going to try to get to his weak spots. Thankfully, Shiro was settled on his chest which means he didn’t need to focus on protecting his ribs either. 

However, he couldn’t attack back and escape this position if he didn’t break his defense. He waited for impact against his crossed arms before swinging a punch. It was clumsy and hasty and definitely rushed but the second that it made impact with the side of Shiro’s mask (hurting like a motherfucker!) he’d thrown Shiro off of his rhythm enough to push him back. He then rolled away, getting to his feet after a second and swinging his leg in a roundhouse kick, angling for Shiro’s head.

To Shiro’s surprise, Keith’s booted foot made contact with enough forced to get him stumbling a bit, the mask knocking the side of his head and causing his vision to swim for a brief moment before he recollected his bearings. He gathered himself just in time to swerve his body around another punch, but then, once again, Keith (or ‘You-Know-Who’ to Shiro) offered up another surprise. His other hand, balled in a tight fist, flew towards a soft spot in Shiro’s armor -- the inside of his thigh. Shiro cried out and let his leg buckle, blocking a punch towards his head with his arm, and grabbing Keith’s other hand -- the hand that had slammed into his mask earlier -- in his own metallic one. 

Shiro put the use of robotic arm to work, squeezing hard enough to crack the plastic of Keith’s gloves. He didn't realize, however, just how hard he’d been squeezing and just what he had cracked until Keith let out a loud sort of shout. Shiro’s eyes shot open behind his mask, and he released instantly, pulling away and lifting a leg to kick Keith back so he could stand properly. Once he was on his feet, facing his panting adversary, who held his injured hand to his chest, Shiro poised himself, and hissed a quick question to Matt.   
“Did I break his hand?” he asked sharply, watching his enemy regain his bearings. Something about that cry of pain had unnerved him considerably so… it almost chilled him to the very bones with shame. He kept his prosthetic low by his side, feeling bad for using it in such an unfair sort of way.   
“Probably,” Matt said, his voice quick, the word punchy. “If not, just a finger or two. You’ve got him now unless he-” 

An enraged shout drowned the sound of Matt out, and Shiro looked up to see his charging foe. He blocked two punches, dodged one kick, but then was caught in the stomach by another, the blow sending him stumbling backwards. The fighting style had changed considerably so -- it was more erratic. A bit more ruthless. Even while Shiro dialed back his own strength due to the unfair breakage of bones, You-Know-Who seemed to charge without thinking. Shiro suffered another blow to the stomach, and then felt his balance teeter when Keith swept his leg. All it took was another kick and Shiro was on the ground, blinking away stars. 

He had pushed up quickly to his knees, ready for another flow of attacks from his adversary, but then he found himself facing an empty space before him. Shiro whipped his gaze around the room, and caught You-Know-Who by his trail of gasoline, his box of matches already in his hands, one of the flammable little sticks pinched between his fingers. Shiro’s eyes widened, and he drew in a sharp gasp as Keith swept the match with a burst of orange light as it ignited. Shiro started to get up, reaching a hand out to the man across the room. 

“Hey! Don’t-!” 

Keith, who had definitely broken his index and middle fingers, let the match burn for a few seconds before throwing it to the floor, by the door. The fire spread quickly as it ate away at the gasoline, devouring almost all that had been poured over the first floor within a heartbeat. Bookshelves were eaten away in a heartbeat and it climbed the stairs in a second, the fire beginning to eat away at the second floor now. The smoke alarms had been disabled, thanks to Lance, so there was none of that disgusting shrieking noise he usually heard. That was what upset him- the shrieking sound of a wailing alarm in response that brought back unpleasant memories and uprooted buried trauma.

Surrounded by flames, Keith leant down to Shiro.  
“Pick your battles a little better,” he said, his words slightly hissed. “Or you’re going to… burn out.”

Shiro grit his teeth, and didn’t think before lashing out with his fist — catching Keith right in the side with an angled punch so it was enough to hurt his ribs. Shiro then leaned back, kicked Keith in the center of his chest to get him away. It worked, and Keith stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over himself. Shiro leapt up from his place on the floor, and spun around, thinking quickly to be one step ahead of his panting adversary. 

“Fastest route upstairs. Now,” Shiro snapped into his comms. That woman was still upstairs in her study — there was still time to save her.   
“Shiro, the stairs are already in flames. You don’t have your suit on under that — you could get seriously burned,” Matt warned him.   
Shiro gave a growl, and moved towards the flames, kicking aside a burning ember with his booted foot. “I don’t care. Route. Now.”  
There was a hesitation. “Alright. Go around the back of the-”

Matt was cut off by a series of distant cries of fire engines and police cars. Both Shiro and Keith had paused to listen, the sound loud enough to cut past the crackling roar of the building fire. For a moment Shiro thought it was for the fire You-Know-Who had set, and, judging by the way he tensed a bit across the room, he figured the villain thought the same. But then Matt uttered a low swear in his comm. There was the clacking of a keyboard, and then another curse, that one shouted so loud Shiro had to flinch. 

“Looks like You-Know-Who is working for wants you to stay out of their business,” Matt muttered dismally in Shiro’s ear. “I saw something on the server that told me about this but I didn’t think they would actually do it-”

Shiro straightened up, his brow furrowed beneath his mask. He casted a wary gaze towards Keith, who watched him back, keeping his distance — still nursing his hand. “What did they do?” Shiro asked.   
“City’s metro. They rigged the tracks and the engine. The train won’t stop — conductor is dead, all the doors are jammed. The train is gonna crash.” 

For the second time that night, Shiro’s blood went cold. “How many people are on the train?” he asked, his voice loud. The flames were surrounding them now, licking the walls and crawling across the carpet, closer and closer. Sticky sweat gathered on his neck beneath his suit and trickled over his brow. Shiro was likely going to get burned a little bit if he didn’t hurry.   
“A lot. If you’re gonna try and stop it, go now.” 

Shiro casted his gaze to Keith, and then up to the ceiling, indecision raging through him like the flames raged the room. Save the rich woman and capture Keith, or stop a runaway train. Shiro grit his teeth, have a growling sort of sigh, and then turned towards You-Know-Who, his voice growing low and deep with anger as he spoke. 

“This isn’t over,” he snapped. “You’re not getting away with this next time. Be sure of it, freak.” 

With that, Shiro scanned the room for the path with the least amount of flames, and made a dash for it. He got all the way outside with nothing but a slight burn on the insides of his legs where his armor was weaker — but they were nothing some bandages and aloe wouldn’t fix, he supposed. Then he was off, in a sprint towards the city’s metro. 

The burning image of You-Know-Who’s visor hanging in his head. The woman in that house tugging at his conscious. The thought of a train crash bugging at his paranoia.


	3. Relax, Breathe

“Does it hurt?” 

Shiro shook his head. 

“It looks like it hurts, Shiro,” Matt murmured, his voice low and quiet as he wrapped Shiro’s burn wounds. 

They were on Shiro’s sofa, Shiro turned to the side so his legs were over Matt’s lap, in nothing but boxers and a white tank top. Matt had a first aid kit beside him, and soft, cottony gauze in his hand as he treated the pinkish skin of Shiro’s calves and his right thigh. His touches weren’t awkward or in anyway more than a friendly or even concerned intimacy — they had been in more awkward situations before, for sure. Shiro’s second line of work didn’t come without its awkward stories. 

Shiro rolled his eyes and sighed a little, reaching a tired arm up to rub the back of his neck. “Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. He wasn’t really one for talking after nights like that. “I’m fine.” 

Matt looked up at Shiro, his eyes narrowed behind his wire framed glasses. He stopped wrapping Shiro’s leg and leaned up a bit, sighing as he adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Shiro,” he said, his voice heavy with judging. “I was gonna save this speech until after you were patched up, but here we go.” Matt paused and lifted his hand.   
“Rich lady wasn’t your fault,” he started, flicking out a finger as though he was counting off on his hands. “Rich lady’s house wasn’t your fault. Rich lady’s dog wasn’t your fault. You-Know-Who getting away wasn’t your fault. The train most definitely wasn’t your fault.” Each sentence was marked with another finger. 

Shiro watched him through a rather skeptical gaze. “It was a distraction for me. And I’m the one who derailed the train,” he said. “Everyone who got hurt are all hurt because of me.”  
“If you didn’t, the train would have slammed into one of the busiest places in the city,” Matt argued. “If you didn’t do what you did, then people would have died.” 

There was a sharp huff from Shiro. “I could have found another way. A train crash is still a train crash and I still caused it,” he muttered.   
“But you didn’t!” Matt urged, leaning forwards. He placed his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and held it tight. “That was all You-Know-Who and his fucking squad of freaks. Please, Takashi, don’t blame yourself for this. I know you’ve got a thick head, but you’re not that dumb.” 

Shiro managed a twitch of a smile. Matt only let himself get serious for little patches at a time. One moment he was deep tones and serious eyes and going by a first name basis, and then the next he was calling Shiro thick-skulled. It was endearing, he supposed. Didn't make him feel like he was being pitied -- Shiro liked that.   
“I’ll try,” Shiro said, reaching a hand up to rub his temple. He didn’t know if it was hurting from the blows he’d gotten from Keith or from the train… judging by the fact nearly all of the train incident had been a bit blurry anyways he figured it was when he managed to derail it. 

Matt nodded, and went back to Shiro’s leg. “Good, you doofus,” he said, shaking his head.

He finished up treating Shiro’s wounds, and pushed Shiro’s legs off of him with a grunt. Shiro turned around, leaning into the cushioned backrest with a sigh, still massaging his right temple. The lights were dimmed, and the television played quietly from its side of the room -- Shiro had turned it on the news so he could watch for the fatality count, but before Matt even began to sit down and patch up Shiro’s leg, he had changed it to some reality TV show. Shiro liked the white noise against the ringing of his ears, the clanging of metal and shrieking of train wheels on cement still fresh in his head, making his hearing buzz. 

That in a comfortable silence for a few more moments, Shiro studying his prosthetic in the quiet. Atlas has taken the liberty of curling up by Shiro’s feet. Black was nowhere to be found — likely hiding somewhere in the suite due to Matt’s presence. The only friend she ever liked was Keith. 

“I broke his hand,” Shiro said bluntly after awhile, closing the fist of his silvery fingers, the black knuckle joints whispering gently with their mechanics. “I also called him a freak. Was that too harsh?”

Matt gave a snort. “He killed someone,” he snickered, shaking his head. “You were the perfect amount of harsh. You should get some rest, man. You’re literally running on thirty minutes of sleep for the past two days.”   
Shiro shook his head a little. “I don’t know if I can,” he mumbled, voice incredibly tired despite his words. “Besides, two hours until my alarm goes off and I have to get up for work. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

Matt lifted a hand and shoved him gently in the arm. “Two hours is better than none, asshole,” he said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll stay here with you. On the couch — we could have a two hour sleepover.”   
Shiro gave a long sigh, pausing a moment or so as he thought about it. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” he said.  
Matt gave Shiro a goofy sort of grin. “Good. Then come over here and cuddle up next to me. No homo.” He laughed when Shiro shot him a high-browed stare at the last little comment. 

Shiro rolled his eyes and leaned down, and gave a soft clicking sound with his tongue — Atlas reacting instantly and standing from her lazy sprawl across his feet. She turned, and hopped up onto the couch, following Shiro’s voice and into his arms. With her tucked in the crook of one elbow, Shiro turned his body, lifted his legs up onto the sofa, and shuffled closer to Matt. Matt looped an arm over Shiro’s shoulders, and Shiro laid his head down on Matt’s chest, letting out a great sigh once he had gotten comfortable. Atlas purred in his arms already, and, once Matt had pulled the blanket from the backrest over the two of them, Shiro felt like he could go right along and join her if he could. 

“Thanks Matt,” he said quietly. “For staying, I mean. The train crash kinda… you know.”  
Matt was the only person in the world Shiro would ever allow himself to be that vulnerable around. He even beat Keith in that aspect — Shiro didn’t want Keith to think him to be weak or frail. No, the idea simply made his skin crawl. 

Matt was the only person he’d let in. 

“No problem,” he said, voice just as tired as Shiro’s all of a sudden. “Now go to sleep, dummy.” 

Shiro smiled, closed his eyes, and drifted off in what felt like seconds with Matt by his side and Atlas in his arms. 

-

“Awroo?” The little whine drawled out past Kosmo’s lips and Keith glanced up at him.  
“What?” he asked, his voice a little snappier than usual. “Do you think you could have done better? You’re a dog, you can’t even set fires. Fuck off,” he murmured as he wrapped up his fingers. He’d tell Shiro he punched the wall or something, even going as far as to kick the wall a few times to make it look scuffed. His two broken fingers were wrapped up together with a shitty little splint. His ribs and chest hurt badly from the kicks Shiro had delivered to him before leaving.

He didn’t have anyone to wrap up his wounds. If he could have, he’d called Shiro to help wrap him up but when Shiro was the one to inflict these wounds… 

It didn’t matter. He could deal with the wounds himself. He’d dealt with worse alone.

His phone buzzed from beside him and he sent it a glance. It was Lance.  
‘How’d it go? success as i saw on the news lol but hru? heard u got fucked up’. The tone was about as caring as Lance’s texts came but it was sincere. It was genuine concern scrawled out in a message that feigned carelessness. That was what he did every time.  
‘Ribs hurt, chest hurts, two broken fingers. Heard Anime was hacking ur system tho, what happened?’ Keith sent in response, acting like he cared about the system just to ensure Lance felt the concern was mutual. He later sent back a message about ‘Green’’s plan to increase security. Keith just sent a thumbs up and left it at that.

Now, finally, he opened his chat with Shiro.  
‘What happened after dinner? Is atlas ok? Curtis dropped me off by the liquor store but i didn’t get anything lol. Promise.’ he texted, awaiting the response. While he waited, he began fixing Kosmo his dinner, letting the dog trail along at his heels and whine. What was on the agenda next? Keith had a list of people that he needed to target. It was exhausting but he was going to have to set five more fires by the end of next week. He had the bag of stolen goods tucked under his bed and planned on melting down the metal to sell without it being suspicious.

He sat down beside Kosmo. He didn’t have enough money to get dinner today and was suddenly wishing he’d been able to steal something from Ludnock’s house on his way out. Or, better yet, that he’d pocketed some of the bread rolls from the restaurant they went to. Benefits would come in a few days. He’d just go to Shiro’s sometime and take whatever food he could get his hands on. He didn’t really mind starving, though. As long as Kosmo ate, he didn’t care.

He checked his phone; still nothing from Shiro.

He texted Lance.  
‘Any idea how i could sell some of the shit i stole?’ he sent. The reply came almost instantly.  
‘I’ll be over to collect it soon. I’ll give u good fuckin money for it, trust me. We can use some of it to make ur new suit, anyway.’

Keith didn’t reply with anything other than a thumbs-up emoji, as per usual. It was his way of saying he had no reason to continue the conversation.

He wasn’t friends enough with Lance to bother with small talk.

He was only really friends with Shiro and he had no plans to change that.

~~~

Shiro didn’t even see Keith’s texts until early the next morning during his makeup routine. He was covering up a fairly ugly bruise on his jaw — the one he had gotten when You-Know-Who has uppercutted him the night before — when he noticed the notification sitting upon his phones lockscreen. Shiro tapped it, read it, and offered a quaint smile. He set down his concealer, plucked up his phone, and began typing out his response. 

‘I got the paper all typed out for work. Atlas is okay, turns out it was just a hairball. Matt just overreacted. So you got home safe? Sorry I meant to check in but I was SO busy…’

Shiro pressed send, and waited for a second. He read through Keith’s previous message, and a flutter of anxiety thrummed through him. He typed up another message and sent it before Keith had the opportunity to respond to the next one. 

‘You weren’t near that train accident last night, right? I saw it on the news’ 

He set the phone down and got back to work. He was sure Keith wouldn’t respond for another couple hours anyways — it was roughly five in the morning. Even Matt was still asleep, curled up with Atlas on Shiro’s couch. Shiro’s alarm had disturbed him for only a second or so, and then he fell back to his deadened state of sleep. 

Shiro kept his eyes on his phone anyways, making sure to check periodically as he fixed his darkened bags. He hoped with some impossible power that Keith would wake up an answer him. Otherwise he might just have had to visit Keith before work — just to make sure he had nothing to do with the train accident. 

Hm. The irony was bittersweet. 

Unlike usual, though, Keith replied in a few minutes. After the incident today Keith was incredibly anxious about making sure Shiro was okay. He wasn’t sure how badly he’d bruised Shiro and it had been playing on his mind for ages now.  
‘Nah, i went straight home and u know how far my house is from the train station. It’s why i always get a lift from u. Hbu? I knew you were over that direction so i was worried.’ was the message he sent, the apprehension clear in his words. Keith didn’t like to make it too obvious how he cared about Shiro but he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer out of Shiro if he wasn’t direct enough to use a little guilt tripping. Saying he’d been worried/scared/sad was the best way to get Shiro to answer his questions honestly.

A little bit of emotional manipulation never really hurt anyone.

Shiro read through the message eagerly, but then hesitated before typing out his own -- cautious and thoughtful as he planned out a good cover story.   
‘I was close to the crash, but I wasn’t close enough for it to be bad. The traffic was crazy tho. I had to start typing out my paper in the car. Got NO sleep last night. I’m glad ur okay tho’ After a few moments, the typical thumbs-up emoji came through to show Shiro he’d read the message.

Shiro set the phone down and finished up with his makeup, taking a few steps back and turning his head in the light -- making sure the shades seemed natural. He was used to covering up his bags, but it was rare he’d get a bruise or a cut on his face with Matt’s mask protecting him. Shiro just needed to make sure it was hidden well enough that even Keith wouldn't be able to tell. Next he’d just have to work on his slight limp -- the burns on his right calf were a bit deeper than the others, it prodded at his muscle like needles when he stepped on it. Some pain medicine and a dumb story about twisting his ankle should have sufficed, though. Sure, if he did end up swinging by Keith’s place, he’d likely grill him for some answers, but other than that Shiro was mostly in the clear. 

It was then he figured he should probably ask in advance -- give himself some time to come up with a proper story for Keith if they’d meet. He picked up his phone again, and typed out another quick message. 

‘Do u want me to come by at all today?’ 

‘Low on food so id appreciate goin to urs today instead. Have u lifted the Kosmo ban? I swear he didnt mean to bite Attie last time.’

While he waited for a reply, Keith got to his feet and began to get dressed. Sweatpants and a shirt would have to be enough for now, it wasn’t like Shiro would really care about what he looked like. He tried to tame his hair but he needed a shower (he preferred to shower at Shiro’s anyway) so it just sat on his head, a little greasy. Shiro still had work today so Keith would be able to shower and eat whatever he wanted. In fact, he’d probably pocket some cans of food just to get him through the next couple days while he waited for Lance to come and buy the stolen goods or for the benefits to come through.

Shiro gave a soft frown at Keith’s message as he made his way from the bathroom, his phone in hand as he crept towards through his suite -- careful with each step so he didn't wake Matt. He typed as he walked, making his way towards the master bedroom. 

‘I’d rather Kosmo stay home, but if you want to bring him you can. Just don’t let him in my room and keep him off the carpets’ 

He clicked his phone off and dropped the arm that had been holding it to his side, opening up his bedroom door and slipping inside. The room was doused with heavy shadow before Shiro flicked the lightswitch to the two grand ceiling fans of his bedroom -- his heavy black shades drawn to block the sunlight. His room looked just about untouched. The floor was cleaned and vacuumed, the bed was made and smoothed from wrinkles, the dressers and the desks were cleared and neat, the master bath door was open just a bit to reveal the glittering reflection of sunlight against the polished pale tiles of the flooring. He didn't go in his room too much -- not unless it was for getting dressed or greeting Black. Shiro just didn't like it all that much.

He didn't like to sleep in the king sized bed with its handsome silk and netted canopy. It was big and lonely. Cold, all alone. As was everything else really. The loveseat was cold. The walk in closet was barren. The master bathroom was always near freezing -- each counter bitter to the touch, the tub icy even if Shiro bathed in the warmest of water. The whole bedroom reeked with a silence that drove Shiro mad. The atmosphere was just clogged with it. It was just so spacious for just one man… the entire apartment suite was, really, but Shiro only ever let himself admit that he was unhappy with the bedroom -- admitting that he simply loathed most of the rooms of his home would likely drive him to move out. And he couldn’t do that. 

Rich people get expensive things. Rich people get big houses or big condos or big suites. That’s what Shiro always thought growing up at least… and without parents to tell him otherwise, the idea just stuck with him. Fastened to his subconscious, quietly tugging him to buy more pointless things for his pointless amusement in his pointless and lonely apartment on a pointlessly high floor in a pointlessly expensive building. 

Black, having been hidden the entire night prior, laid on Shiro’s bed, sprawled out comfortably in a stretch. Shiro moved over to her, and scratched her head, murmuring a soft hello before he left her to go rummage through his closet for a suit to wear. She had followed him, hopping down from Shiro’s bed and making her slow way to his legs, moving through them and obnoxiously pressing her head against his calves. Shiro winced, and tried to ignore the bite of his burns for Black’s sake, and pulled out one of his more comfortable suits. 

He was still just in his boxers, having showered just thirty minutes before. Shiro turned to face the mirror inside of his walk in closet, lifting the suit to his body and eyeballing the sizes -- making sure it looked like it fit. It was, obviously, a sleek black suit with a soft white undershirt. All he needed to complete his look for work was a tie, his shoes which were by the door, and his ID to get into his office, which was hanging by his bed. He held it in front of his scarred chest, studied himself for a moment or so, and then offered a shrug. It worked. 

Shiro dressed himself, and checked his phone again for a text as he smoothed the fabrics over his chest, still studying himself in the mirror. He tapped the notification from Keith, and read it. 

‘Omw.’ it read simply, bluntly. Keith would only be a few minutes if he was on that bike of his. It was a pretty sweet motorbike, initially a Honda but he’d swapped out so many parts over the years that it was some kind of a hybrid/amalgamation of all kinds of bikes. It was stealthily quiet and moved quickly, thin enough to let him weave through traffic. He used it all the time. He’d even gotten Lance to make some adjustments to it to increase fuel efficiency. Most parts replaced were made by Lance, too, and while they looked pretty rough they were sturdy and did the job that they needed to do.

And, after only five or six minutes, Keith was sending Shiro ‘Outside’ to let him know to buzz him in. He kept his helmet on when he went in, hating the dirty looks he got from all directions just for looking like an outsider. For not wearing some fancy pressed suit and for having holes in his jeans or knives in his pockets. He kept the helmet on to protect himself from most of the glares like knives. He got into the elevator and took his way to the top floor, stood beside someone in a sharp black suit who had a girl on his arm. She wore a tight black dress with a pearl necklace and earrings that looked like it cost more than Keith’s house. He didn’t comment. He pretended not to notice how they moved away from him when he got in. Like poverty would be contagious. 

It was only a matter of moments before they were out of the elevator and he was on his way up to the top floor alone, arms folded over his chest. He was uninterrupted from there and managed to get to Shiro’s room, knocking on it to be let in. He’d asked Shiro a couple of times about getting his own keycard for the place but last time he’d actually gotten one it had gone missing within two days. Kosmo had eaten it but he didn’t want to tell Shiro that so, as far as he knew, it was just missing.

After a few moments, a soft buzz ran out and the door lock clicked so Keith pushed it open. There was a button in the bedroom to unlock the door, apparently. Rich people always did have it so much easier. It wasn’t that fucking difficult to go to the door and unlock it! But… it did mean Shiro wouldn’t need to see Keith with his helmet on and ask him why he wore it. He didn’t want to start talking about how much he hated being seen without it in such a privileged area.

“Shiro?” he called when he got in and had taken off his helmet, unaware of the sleeping Matt. “Where are you?”

Shiro instantly perked up in his room, a smile spreading about his face as he clipped on his nametag -- the last touch of his outfit -- and made his way out of the bedroom. Of course, when Shiro thudded down the wide staircase and turned the corner into the living room, he found Atlas had beat him. She was winding around Keith’s legs, meowing loudly for attention, trailing white fur across the dark fabric of Keith’s pants. Shiro gave a soft laugh and clicked his tongue, causing Atlas to trot happily towards him -- using her memorized route around the coffee table and to Shiro’s side. She followed him back to Keith, Shiro sucking up the pain in his leg and covering up his limp, and waited by his feet when he stopped. 

“Well you’re earl-...” Shiro started, looking up to Keith’s face but trailing off when he noticed something strange. Without thinking, Shiro lifted a hand and brushed Keith’s hair back, exposing a soft patch of red on Keith’s cheek. It wasn't a bruise, and Shiro was sure it wouldn't bruise, but it still set off a soft alarm in his system. “What is that? Did someone hit you? You didn't have that last night, what happened?” 

Keith turned his head away.  
“I got into a fight with some of the people nearby,” he muttered. “Caught them trying to steal my bike, that was it. Don’t fuss too much.” He began through to the living room, spotting Matt lying on the couch and deciding not to comment, continuing ahead. “What have you got to eat? I’m starving, man. Kosmo’s got that expensive food and I’ve run out of actual food.”  
“I-uh, sure,” Shiro started, eyes wide. “But Keith-” He walked away before Shiro could finish.

He pushed open the kitchen door, getting out a bowl and some milk before rummaging through all the cereals Shiro had. He took out some cocoa puffs and was soon taking a bowl back to the living room. He sat down on the sofa, hearing Atlas meow by his feet and lifting her up, setting her down on the couch beside him and by Matt’s feet. He finally turned back to focus on Shiro, studying his suit.  
“What’s the plan for today, then? Have you got a meeting or something?” he asked, wanting to know what Shiro was going to be doing today so he could figure out how long he’d be gone for.

Shiro, still concerned about Keith’s face, followed him to the kitchen and back, watching him carefully -- too caught up in Keith’s problems to hide his limp. Keith seemed to be walking with his own sort of stumble. His hand was wrapped badly in what looked like cheap tape from the dollar store. One of his arms were pressed against his ribs like they were hurting him. Shiro gave a soft huff and crossed his arms, 

“I… yeah. Some meetings. I have to practice for my speech on Friday but… that’s not important right now,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You have to stop getting into these fights -- it’s like every time I see you, you’ve got a new bruise. You’re gonna turn my hair more white than it already is.” 

He started forwards, stopping in front of Keith and then settling down on his knees. He took Keith’s hand before he could argue about it, and studied the swelling of his fingers. For a moment, something curious flashed in Shiro’s system. At first glance it was nothing more than some broken fingers… but upon looking harder Shiro could have sworn there was something off about them. They didn't look like they were broken because of some bad punch. They almost looked some sort of dislocated. Keith had pulled his hand away before Shiro could study them more thoroughly, and Shiro snapped from his rude sort of daze. 

“Sorry… I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said, shaking his head a little. “Do you want me to give you some proper medical tape to splint them? I would take care of them myself but…” he sent a glance down to his watch. “I need to be gone in about five minutes. And I’m sure traffic is still bad with everything that happened last night.” 

Keith shrugged a little.  
“Yeah,” he eventually muttered. “Yeah, I might as well wrap them up properly. And it’s not that bad- it was just a little fight. They got more fucked up than I did, I promise.” He waited until Shiro had left to lean back, sighing. Shiro’s damn curiosity… honestly, as surprised as he was that Shiro hadn’t figured him out yet, it didn’t mean he would be taking chances and blindly hoping that Shiro was clueless enough not to realise. 

When he had the tape, he undid the shitty tape around his fingers (with a muttered curse or two) and re-wrapped them with medical tape. It did the job a hell of a lot better, he had to admit.   
“So are you going now?” he asked Shiro, who was trying to coax Atlas away from around his ankles so he could get to the door without tripping. “Any idea how long you’ll be?”

Shiro gave a soft shrug. “A few hours, at best,” he said, sighing a little as he reached for the door. He had grabbed his laptop bag when he was retrieving Keith’s medical tapes, and it was currently resting on his shoulder by the strap. Shiro had also gotten a bottle of pain meds, taking three in private before taking them to Keith along with the bandages and a glass of cool ice water. He had set them down on the table and instructed Keith to only take two before he had made his way to the door. 

“If the meeting goes by smoothly, that’ll be about two hours,” he said, adding together everything in his head. “I mean… I could come back here and do some work on my computer with you guys, but you’d have to promise not to distract me. There’s a lot of preparation to be done before I’m CEO. After I’m done with that maybe I can practice my speech for you guys? Maybe just you if Matt sleeps all day… would you mind?”   
“Yeah, course,” Keith said with a smile as he looked up at Shiro. “I wouldn’t mind. I’m sure it’s fine, though. You’ve always been great with speeches.”

Shiro smiled lightly, and nodded his head. “Perfect. Then I’ll be gone about two hours at the least, four at the most,” he confirmed, checking his watch again. “I’ll call you when I get out of the meeting. Just… hang out with Matt for now. Maybe you can wake him up and play video games or something. Matt just made me buy the new Kingdom Hearts or whatever it was. I dunno if you’re into that, but the game stations are all set up already.” Shiro turned on his heel and started towards the door, giving a very particular click to Atlas so she stopped soiling around his legs as he limped away. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned back, smiling. “Thanks for coming over… I’m sorry I have to go,” he said, voice gentle and caring. “I’ll see you in a little while. Black’s in my room if you want to play with her. You know the rules. Goodbye Keith.”   
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Bye.”

And with that, Shiro was off. 

Keith finished his bowl pretty quickly, leaving it on the coffee table before going to the kitchen and taking a few different things from Shiro’s cupboard (he wouldn’t missed a few cans of food and some bread) before returning to the couch, slumping down beside Matt. He turned on the TV and started flicking through different channels, eventually starting to watch the news just to check for any information on him that might have been uncovered and revealed to the public. Sure, Lance hadn’t told him anything but he couldn’t be too sure. Cockiness was fatal nowadays and he couldn’t risk dying. He couldn’t risk being caught and arrested.

Somehow, even after the conversation didn't, the television seemed to rouse Matt from his sleep. He pushed up from the couch, a groggy groan escaping the back of his throat as he reached a tired fist to rub his eye. He lifted his head and looked towards the TV, narrowing his eyes at the news headlines as his tired brain connected two and two together. 

“Shiro, what did I say about watching the news?” he grumbled, pushing up and yawning, eyes pinched closed as he stretched. “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not your f-... oh. You’re not Shiro.” 

Matt only seemed to startle for a mere instant or so, but he relaxed into the couch and slumped -- used to spontaneous visits from Shiro’s other basket case. “Hey Keith,” he said in a slurred sort of tone, still rubbing his eyes. Shiro might have been used to two hours at a time, but Matt had to admit he was one for sleeping late after a night with the amount of nerves as the prior had. He leaned back into the cushion of tha backrest, and licked his dry lips -- morning breath heavy on his tongue. He flicked his eyes to the bowl of cereal, and suddenly wished he had his own… but he was too tired to get up so he simply stared at Keith’s. 

“Did Shiro leave already?” he asked, cocking his head. “I meant to tell him to pick up snacks while he was out.”   
“Then text him,” Keith muttered as he watched the TV, leaning on his hand. “He left a few minutes ago so I’m sure he can get some for you.” His eyes fixed on Matt after a moment, a small smile on his lips. “You look like shit. Did you sleep well?”

He was only teasing, of course. That was typical for them. They weren’t too close but they were mates enough to tease each other.

Keith was still a little pissed at Matt for calling him a basket case or a cockblock, but… he could fuss about that later. He could always bring it up another time. It was hardly something urgent, it just frustrated him.

Keith’s eyes flicked back to Matt a second later.  
“Why were you sleeping here, anyway?”

Matt grinned at him, and offered a playful narrowing of his eyes. “I slept fine. A whole two and a half hours. You don’t look any better. Someone sock you in the face?” he turned his head back to the television, laying it against the backrest as he watched the reporter go over the stats and facts of the train crash yet again. Matt lifted a hand to point at the screen. “Shiro was a little shaken up after the whole train thing. He was close to it when it happened, I guess, and you know how he gets about that kind of stuff. I was here raiding his pantry when he got home anyways, so I slept over. We crashed on the couch.” 

He reached for the remote, snatching it up before Keith could stop him. It was a smart TV -- all the apps he wanted already downloaded onto it’s library. In an instant or two, Crunchyroll had been started up and Matt was flicking through animes. He pretended not to notice the look Keith had given him from the corner of his eye, and clicked on whatever anime he was watching, the large screen flashing with the colorful art of Matt’s show.

“So,” he said, turning the television down to an acceptable level. “What do you want to do? This is my third watchthrough of this series, so I don’t really mind if we play truth or dare or spin the bottle on the side.” Matt gave a childish little snicker, and turned to face Keith. “That is what you kids do nowadays, isn’t it? Dad’s not home and we’ve got the house to ourselves, right?” 

“I don’t see the point in doing spin the bottle,” Keith said, smiling a little. “If you want to make out you should just tell me.” He turned to look back at Matt, focusing his attention back onto him. “We could play Kingdom Hearts. Shiro told me that you made him buy it and everything’s set up.” He moved to get to his feet, starting to the TV and turning on the playstation, picking up the controllers. “Full disclosure- I have only played on console once or twice before. Alright? So when I’m really shit, don’t laugh at me.”

He settled beside Matt again, handing him a controller and waiting for him to get everything sorted. It wasn’t like clueless Keith could do anything to figure it out.

Matt perked up instantly at the mention of his new game, and he set everything up -- even going as far as to load up a new game instead of starting from his previous two loads (one was for one-hundred percenting the game, and the other was just for getting through the story). “It’s single player,” Matt said as the screen loaded up. They were playing on Matt’s account -- he was leeching off of Shiro’s Playstation Plus membership, which didn't really matter because Shiro never had any time for gaming anyways. “We’ll have to take turns. You can play the first few levels.” He passed Keith the controller, and leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Fair warning: I’m a back seat gamer.” 

He really was. He told Keith where to go and which easter eggs to look out for and which in game currency to go back for. Matt only left Keith alone to play for himself when he had gotten up to pee, returning with a box of cereal in one hand, and a Mountain Dew in the other. Matt could hear Shiro’s voice in his head as he plopped down, already stuffing a handful of cereal into his mouth. ‘Breakfast of champions,’ he would say, a bit of disgust in his tone. Matt snickered at the thought, and elbowed Keith’s arm. 

“Go down that way -- talk to that guy right there,” he said, nodding towards the television. He gave Keith a glance, and then looked down at his hands when he noticed how oddly Keith had been holding the remote. His eyes narrowed, and then widened, and he elbowed Keith again. “Holy shit. Is your hand okay? What happened?” He flicked his eyes up to Keith’s, and cocked his head. “Did Shiro see that? He’s gonna kick your ass if you got into another fight.” 

“Oh-” Keith paused the game, turning to show Matt his hand a little. “Yeah, no, he saw. Some of the kids nearby tried to steal my bike and… they didn’t give up when they were caught,” he muttered after a few moments, hiding his hand pretty soon after. Matt would notice these things quicker than Shiro. He didn’t want to have Matt catching on to who he was. He was already pretty sure Matt was starting to connect the dots.

He turned his gaze back to the screen after a moment, though, not wanting to bring too much attention to his wounds. “Shiro knows. He did scold me a little but, y’know, nothing too horrible. I’m sure I’ll live.” Shiro had pretty much gotten used to all the fights that he got in by now. It wasn’t like it was his fault he lived in such a shit area with horrible kids. It wasn’t his fault he’d rather get killed than lose his motorbike. He had his reasons.

Matt rolled his eyes and looked back to the television. “You make him worry too much,” he said, shaking his head. “I just don’t get why you won’t let him help you move somewhere safer. Hell, he told me he’s even asked you to move here a few times. He’d let you keep your apartment and everything, but you’d be better off somewhere else, man. Even if you don’t wanna move for yourself, you should probably move for him.” Matt popped open his soda, and took a long gulp of it before continuing, smacking his lips and licking the excess from his mouth. 

“He cares about you a lot,” Matt said, digging into the cereal box again. “It’s always ‘I hope Keith this’ and ‘I wonder if Keith that’. Just be careful for his sake, alright? Shiro doesn’t need anymore heartaches.” He crunched on some cereal, and pointed to the television. “Go there. There’s an extra scene if you go through there.” 

“I’m not fucking moving,” Keith muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen though they were now narrowed into a glare. “I’m not moving house. I’m not letting Shiro make me move house and I’m not letting him spend that much money on me. I’m fine where I am.” He grit his teeth a little but kept playing, eyebrows furrowing. “Can we just drop this? I’m not going to go into any specific reasons or anything. I’m not moving. Like it or not, that’s my decision and it has been since Shiro first suggested it.”

He didn’t care about how much Shiro worried about him. He didn’t care about whether or not it would be safer somewhere else. He wasn’t going to move house and he had his damn reasons for it. Besides- it wasn’t like his place wasn’t as dangerous as Shiro thought it was. The fights he always got into weren’t actually fights with some kids or whatever. He just had to make up some believable excuse about why he had new bruises almost every time they saw each other. If anything, he got into more fights in richer parts of the neighbourhood.

Matt held his hands up, shaking his head a little. “Alright, alright, sheesh,” he said, watching Keith from the corner of his eyes, a bit of concern spread about his features. “Pretend I never said anything. Just go down the alleyway and get the extra scene, okay?” 

Three and a half hours passed before Shiro sent them each a text. They had played for awhile, but then Matt got bored of going through the story a third time and asked if they could put on a movie instead. It was about halfway finished -- some dumb Quentin Tarantino flick with bad effects and gross fake blood -- when their phones buzzed. Keith’s first, and then Matt’s. 

‘On my way home. Bringing a lot of work with me. Anything you guys need?’ 

Matt took advantage and wrote out his list of snacks in all capital letters in one text, and a quaint little ‘thanks ily’ in the other. Shiro replied with a simple ‘Got it’ and, because Keith had sent him nothing but a thumbs up, it was the last they heard from him until he got back. It was about fifteen minutes after the texts that Shiro was stumbling into the apartment door, two bags of food looped around each arm, his laptop bag looped about his shoulder, and a collection of folders full of paperwork and charts tucked in his armpit. The second his soft greeting had left his lips, Atlas released a shrill meow of delight at the sound of his voice, and leapt up from Matt’s lap to greet Shiro at his legs. 

Matt noticed his was still limping a bit with a concerned sort of frown, but he bit back any comment for the sake of Keith, instead standing up and reaching out for the snack bags.   
“Gimme, gimme,” he said greedily, his hands grabby as he reached for the plastic bag that contained the gummy bears. 

Shiro rolled his eyes, and handed the bag to Matt before making his way to the coffee table. He set down the other bag and then the folder, still holding his laptop carrier over his arm. His eyes flicked up to Keith, and he smiled.   
“I know you didn't say you wanted anything, but I got you some candy too,” he said, gesturing to the shopping bag. “Sorry if I took too long. The press caught me at the store. Everyone’s dying to know what my plans are for Shirogane Mechanics and Health. They really don’t know how to watch my interviews on the television, huh?” 

He stepped back, and absently rubbed at the concealed bruise on his jaw. It was just beginning to adapt the aching throb of a healing wound -- it hurt more when prodded or touched, but, like most people, Shiro always found touching his bruises to be some sort of subconscious satisfaction. It’s the same sort of absent feeling one has when they poke at a bruise on their shin they don’t even remember obtaining. He just hoped his constant rubbing at it wouldn't smudge the makeup and reveal the greenish blue mark. 

“We’re watching a movie, but if you want us to shut it off while you work, that’s chill,” Matt mumbled past a mouthful of gummy bears.   
Shiro shook his head a little, moving over to the couch and plopping down beside Keith. Atlas hopped into his lap, but Shiro picked her up and set her aside -- reserving his lap for his laptop. He pulled it out from his bag, set it on his legs, and opened it up, the charts already pulled up, each tab already loaded and equally as important as the next. Keith pulled Atlas onto his lap instead, starting to pet the top of her head and behind her ears, letting her sniff at his hand to recognise him before she let out an excited meow and butt her head into his palm. 

“Nah, that’s okay. It’s only, like, nine in the morning,” Shiro assured, already typing like mad on one of his docs. “I have until midnight to finish all of this, and if I keep going at this rate I’ll be able to finish around five p.m. But I might be able to work faster in this environment -- just don’t distract me too much, alright?”

Keith sent a glance to Matt before shrugging and telling Shiro that he could probably manage that, slumping back in his chair. Black was weaving her way through Shiro’s ankles, meowing at him, having missed him greatly while he was gone. She must have heard Keith’s voice to come out of Shiro’s bedroom -- she always seemed to like him. And again, to aid Shiro’s concentration, Keith swept her up and set her on the couch beside him. For a moment or so she tried to walk onto the laptop and lie down, stretched over Shiro’s hands, but when he caught her and pushed her back she took to following Atlas’s initiative and curled up on Keith’s lap, quietly purring at each little pet.

They were both sweet cats. And if Shiro was going to ignore him, he might as well talk to the cats instead.

So while he was petting the two of them, and while Matt was focused on the movie and Shiro on his work, he began murmuring sweet little things to them in this cooed voice. Just little things about how cute they were, how sweet they were, how they could still somehow pet them with his broken fingers and that made them a little better than Kosmo (who insisted to be pet properly despite how Keith couldn’t do that). He made soft kissing sounds, which Atlas seemed to love, and both of them were purring oh so loudly. It was nice. If Kosmo was here, it would be perfect.

“So what was the meeting like?” he eventually asked, curiosity getting the better of him over Shiro’s work.

Shiro gave a smile, not looking away from his computer. “Boring,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “And annoying. You don’t really get just how irritating suck-ups are until you’re CEO. I’ve had more people ask to make me a coffee than I had people ask about my day.” Shiro gave a snort, and finished off the last sentence or so of his report before switching over to the next tab.

Matt elbowed him playfully. “Hey, free coffee can’t be that bad,” he said, rolling his eyes. He looked to Keith over Shiro’s computer. “Rich people, am I right? So ungrateful.”   
“Yeah, definitely,” Keith agreed. “I’d take coffee over small talk any day.”

Shiro gave a sigh and a frown, flicking his eyes to the both of them for a moment before returning to his screen. “The coffee’s nice. The fact that everyone giving me the coffee wants a raise or a promotion isn’t,” he corrected. “Anyways, yeah, the meeting went fine. I grabbed some breakfast from the breakroom, and then I sat with Curtis for a bit so he could read over my speech.”   
Matt perked up, sitting up straight and slinging an arm over Shiro’s shoulder, the gesture causing Shiro’s hand to press against the keyboard -- he eyed Matt as he deleted the jumble of typos and waited for the teasing. 

He flashed Shiro a shit-eating grin. “Aw, you asked Curtis to help you?” he asked Shiro, the name Curtis pronounced in a sort of drawled way, tone deepened and babied like some sort of eighth grader taunting another for his crush. He leaned away from Shiro, and tipped his head back, placing his hand over his heart. Shiro nearly groaned -- he could sense the reenactment coming.  
“I can basically picture it now,” Matt had exclaimed with a dramatic flare that had Shiro rolling his eyes. “‘Oh, Curtis! You’ll help me with this speech, won’t you?’” He turned and fell over Shiro’s lap, on top of the keyboard, the back of his hand pressed against his head. “‘Oh, clumsy me! I seemed to have fallen. Help me up with your strong arms, sweet Curtis!’” 

Shiro blushed madly, and shoved him away, lifting his laptop with his other hand. “That-...that’s not what happened,” he grumbled, red creeping all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

Well it… it was what happened, actually. 

Sort of. 

He’d been all the more flustered because Matt had gotten pretty damn close for playful teasing. Shiro hadn’t fallen down or anything, of course, but around the time he made his way past Curtis’s office, the burns on his legs had been painfully persistent with his rough pants chafing against their bandages, and his head was swimming with exhaustion. Curtis had noticed -- and had been the only person all day to notice -- Shiro’s limp, and somehow even saw past the makeup and into Shiro’s tired eyes. He had stopped Shiro before leaving, and asked him to come sit down. Shiro had denied at first, but then he stumbled and Curtis had caught him -- helping him to his large office and sitting him down in the plush couch. It was then he decided to go over his speech to try and play his weakness off. Curtis had let him -- listening and giving his input despite the concerned glint in his eyes. 

Shiro couldn’t deny the flush he had felt in his system when Curtis had held his hand or asked him quietly what had been wrong… but it was nothing more than a dumb sense of touch starvation, Shiro was sure. 

And if it wasn’t just his loneliness getting to him… it didn't matter anyways. He wouldn't date Curtis even if he was straight head-over-heels in love with him. No… he wouldn't date anyone. Not with the life he lived -- no man deserved to put up with that. With him. 

“Mm,” Matt said, giggling as he leaned up off of Shiro’s lap. Shiro huffed at him and, once again, deleted the typos his friend had caused. Matt looked up at Keith, and gave him a prompting sort of smirk, trying to pull him into the conversation. “You saw them last night, didn't you. Were they all lovey dovey? Did Shiro, dare I say, swoon?”   
Shiro elbowed him. “Shut up,” he said, before turning to Keith. “Don’t answer that.”   
“Aha! You don’t want him telling me something!” Matt stuck his tongue out at Shiro, and then turned to face Keith. “Come on, give me the details.” 

Keith gave a soft, nervous laugh. He’d been too preoccupied with Lance to notice if there was any swooning or not but… there was no harm in making something up for the sake of humiliating Shiro a little. He leant forward, grinning.   
“Oh, yeah, they were all over each other,” he said with a slight purr to his voice. “They thought that I wouldn’t notice but it was so obvious. Even when they weren’t shyly brushing hands under the table or pretending not to notice how flustered each other got, it was obvious. They would share loving gazes while they ordered and everything.” He smile, throwing Shiro a wink. “But what do I know? Curtis would never be as open as that, would he? It’s not like he’s been pining for you for months now, or something.”

Finally, content with his story, Keith leant back in his seat and let Atlas headbutt his chin to demand his attention. He started to brush his hands through her hair, letting Matt use this new information like a round of ammunition. 

Shiro looked at Keith with an expression of pure betrayal, while Matt bursted into hysteric little chuckles, his hand finding Shiro’s shoulder to try and ground himself while he laughed.   
“Oh my God,” he spluttered between giggles. “That’s fucking golden. Holy shit-”   
“That’s not what happened,” Shiro pouted, his voice drawn out and whined, like some sort of kicked puppy. “Ugh... I’m kicking you both out.” 

Matt gave a low ‘ooh’ and rose his eyebrows. “I’m so scared,” he hummed, narrowing his eyes at Shiro. “The big ol’ teddy bear is going to kick us out! Whatever shall we do, Keith?”   
“There’s nothing to be done,” Keith said, smiling softly as he continued to focus on the cats. “How will we live, knowing that the puppy kicked us out? It wounds me. The idea of it, it’s too much.”

Shiro reached his hand up to his head, holding his temple and sighing as the two giggled like children beside him. He tried to hide the rushing blush he had gotten from being referred to as ‘puppy’, playing it off as though it had something to do with Curtis. “Alright,” he groaned, defeated. He turned back to his computer, and began to type again. “Alright, alright. So what if I have something for Curtis? And so what if he has something for me? Big whoop.”

Matt gave a gasp. “You admitted it!” he cried, reaching a hand up to his head and running it back through his hair. “Oh my God! You admitted it! Wait- so really-?”  
Shiro held up a hand. “Look, I don’t know,” he groaned, pinching his eyes closed. “It’s not like it’ll go anywhere. I’m too busy for relationships.”   
Matt gave a snarky sort of snort. “Then maybe you guys could be sex buddies or something,” he suggested, raising up his brow. 

Shiro blushed again, growing hot red at the thought -- the heat going all the way down to his shoulders. “Matt-!” he said sharply, the response earning another silly laugh from his friend. Shiro gave a low sort of sigh, and slumped his shoulders, hunching closer to his laptop. “You guys are gross. Thinking about my sex life. At least I’ve got one.”   
“Uh, but Shiro? I thought you were a v-” Matt started to object, but Shiro sent him a deadly glare from the corner of his eyes, and he trailed off, remembering Keith was in the room. He shook his head and continued with something else, trying to erase Shiro and Matt’s sacred ‘Unspeakable Subject’ from the atmosphere. 

“We’re not gross. We just know what’s best for you. Living alone with your cats and your two loser friends isn’t a good future. Right Keith?”   
"Better than living alone with a dog and no friends," Keith muttered under his breath before leaning in a little. "I think you should give it a shot with Curtis. Just once. Without dragging me or Matt or any other colleagues along." He gave Shiro a wink, smiling up at him. "What's the worst that could happen?" 

Shiro watched Keith for a second or so, his cheery, goofy attitude faltering a moment or so as he considered Keith’s words. 

A lot could happen...

Keith sent Matt another look, though, getting a smug grin in return. Matt was all for Shiro being in a relationship with someone like Curtis. Keith had to say that they did seem like a good fit, especially after Adam moved away, but something tugged at him and told him that it just didn't seem right. It didn't matter, though. No matter what he thought, he couldn't exactly just tell Shiro he shouldn't have a shot at happiness and a relationship because it didn't seem right to him.

He turned his eyes away from the two of them, sighing softly. Atlas bumped her head against his hand and he gave her a few scratches under her chin until his phone buzzed and he pulled his hand away (earning an upset little meow) to read the text. It was Lance.  
'Gonna head to urs later. u got the stuff? can i let myself in?'

He tapped in a response quickly, letting Matt encourage/taunt Shiro while he did.  
'im out, let urself in, it's under my bed. mind kosmo, hes drooly and should be wandering around. just try not to get him too excited or he wont leave you alone.'  
'kk. money will be with kosmo's food' was all Lance replied with. Keith tapped the thumbs-up emoji, letting it send before tucking the phone away into his pocket again. He didn't expect a response and he didn't get one, so he turned his attention back to the two in the room- who were staring at him like he'd just thrown Atlas across the room.

"What?" he asked, frowning a little, anxious for a moment that they'd seen that he was talking about but first, his phone was upside down, and second- they weren't nosey enough to be able to read it from the other side of the room. 

“First of all,” Matt said, offering up a grin, “I like the brick in your hands. How old is it -- stone age, I presume?” He elbowed Shiro, who’s eyes were also fixated on Keith’s pocketed phone with a weary sort of pity. “Just have Shiro hook you up, man. He’s like our sugar daddy.” 

Shiro nodded, throwing Matt a glance for the comment but then turning his focus back to Keith. “The screen and the camera are shattered,” he said, laying out one of his hands -- silently asking to study Keith’s phone. It took a few moments of heavy hesitation, but soon Keith’s old phone was in the palm of his hand, and Shiro was running his eyes over each crack in its screen or each dent in its side. It was a fourth generation -- Shiro had to admit it wasn’t something he’d seen a lot of those days. A relic, almost.   
“My company has a deal with Apple. I could get you on a free plan -- it would only take like thirty minutes,” he said, handing the phone back. “You’d get the newest phone every time they upgrade. I’ll take all the shipping fees and the sneaky fees they try to charge you, but really it’d be like pocket change.” 

Matt chimed in behind Shiro, raising up his brow. “Yeah, and that way you’d be able to text whoever it is you were smiling over like that more often,” he hummed. Shiro shot him a warning glance -- he could be teased all day long, but he didn't know how he felt about Matt teasing Keith or vice versa. Matt continued anyways, not afraid of Shiro’s looks anymore. “Does emo boy finally have a crush? Give us the details, Keith.” 

Keith groaned, tucking his phone away.  
“I’ve not got a crush, thanks,” he muttered as he slumped back. “You know what I’m like. Seriously. I was just texting a friend and- and I wouldn’t even really call him that. He’s just someone I talk to sometimes and he doesn’t even refer to me by name. Leave it.” 

He noticed how drastically the atmosphere changed at the comment but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. They should have known better than to accuse him of anything like that. As if he’d ever have a crush on anyone but…

His eyes drifted to Shiro and the look of idle concern in his eyes. He quickly dropped his attention back to the floor.

“It’s nobody, just drop it. What snacks did you get?”

Shiro looked back to his computer, and got back to work, trying to relax the tight clench of his jaw. “Some of those candies you like -- the sour kind,” he said, his tone a bit spaced as he typed out the last few paragraphs of his second report. “I got myself some chocolate. Nothing special -- I was only at Target. Help yourself.” 

A comfortable silence followed that -- Keith and Matt watching the movie while Shiro focused on the white glow of his computer. He finished three more of his tabs, leaving about four left, around twelve in the afternoon. He’d been saving the bigger projects for last. The last two would likely take the bulk of his evening -- charting out the different prices for the different mechanics and medicines his company produced. Shiro had been working on a rather lengthy description of their new line of medical equipment: devices that would help decrease the mortality rate of risky surgical transplants at least seven percent. A small number for some, of course, but to the medical world it had been a bit of a miracle. Shiro had been explaining why when the movie Keith and Matt had been watching -- something dumb police action flick that had popped up on HBO -- was disrupted by a familiar ping. 

Shiro flicked his head up in an instant. He knew the sound of the city’s Breaking News by heart. He’d never forget it. 

All three of them froze as a woman dressed in blue appeared on the screen before them, sitting behind a desk with a small stack of papers held in her hands. She looked stoically at the camera, as all news reporters would, and beside her head flashed an achingly familiar photo. Shredded pavement, mangled metal, snapping wires -- popping and flashing like firecrackers even in the still picture. Shiro was instantly taken back to the event it captured -- the sounds of groaning gears, the shrieks of passengers, the smell of something burning, the flash of snapped power cables. His blood ran cold, and he shut his laptop, leaning forwards to try and listen for the woman’s report. 

“Good afternoon Voltropolis,” the reporter began, voice dismal. “We interrupt your programs to give you breaking news regarding the events of last night’s train incident. Officials have discovered that the crash, now with a death count of one with one of the victims passing in the hospital this morning, has no correlation with the bank robberies. Instead, detectives have officially confirmed that the tracks and the engine were indeed tampered with before the crash. We do not know who tampered with the city’s metro, but we do know who derailed the train. With first hand encounters and video footage, it has been confirmed that the city’s own vigilante, The Black Paladin, was responsible for the crashing of the train.” The picture beside her changed to a lower quality one -- likely taken with a phone -- of masked man dressed in black, ushering terrified victims from the crash site. Shiro’s heart seized a bit in his chest, and he leaned forwards even more, at the very edge of his seat. 

“Some officials, most of which supporters of this masked mystery, claim that his interference was necessary to keep the death count from skyrocketing. Others, however, believe otherwise. Allura Altea, captain of the city’s tenth precinct, claims that this ‘vigilante’ is dangerous, and caused more harm than he supposedly stopped. Her official quote had been: ‘The police could have handled it. The injured and the dead are on The Black Paladin’s conscious. He should be paying for the damage.’” Shiro’s picture was replaced with Allura’s academy photo, and beside that had been her quote written out in bold white letters. ‘ As stated in earlier reports, there are at least five citizens hospitalized, and one dead. The total cost of this accident has not been calculated, but it is likely it’s somewhere in the high thousands. Check back with us on Channel Two for more in depth information. Stay safe Voltropolis. This has been your Breaking News Report. You may now continue your scheduled programming.” 

The movie clicked back on, but somehow the room had fallen completely and utterly silent. Shiro was frozen, eyes wide as he watched the screen -- Allura’s quote still burned in his retinas, her words, somehow in her voice rather than the reporter’s, cycling through his head. Shiro’s stomach churned like he was going to be sick, and he stood up wordlessly, setting his computer down on the sofa where he’d been sitting. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he murmured, voice very quiet. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, Shiro left, Atlas following with an oblivious joy. 

Matt gave a nervous laugh, his eyes following Shiro as he slipped away. “I, uh, wonder what that was all about?” he asked, trying to keep things from being to obvious for Keith. He reached for the remote, and turned up the television some more, drowning out the strange silence with the sounds of the cheesy fight scene. “Sucks about that train, though. This city is getting worse and worse by the night, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Keith muttered. “It really seems like it. But I… I ought to head off, too. Kosmo doesn’t handle being alone too well. You should go check on Shiro. You know how much crashes freak him out and I don’t want him being unresponsive when he has so much work due tomorrow. He’ll never stop beating himself up over it.”

He managed to get to his feet after a moment, tapping a few buttons on his phone before he had a contact open. Zarkon. He… he had a few things that he needed to get off of his chest that Zarkon needed to hear. Keith knew that if he thought this over for even a few more seconds he’d back down so he got up, grabbed his bag with the stolen food, and kicked on his shoes.

He left the apartment like that, pulling the door to behind him. He could he heard saying “Hey? Yeah, we have to talk” into the receiver before the door clicked shut and it was quiet again, leaving Matt to pick up the pieces of Shiro.

Matt gave a frown, watching Keith leave before shooting up from the sofa and following the path Shiro had taken. He skipped right past the bathroom, knowing it would be dark and empty, and instead hurried up the stairs. He made his way through the upstairs hall, passing Shiro’s room and the guest room, all in favor for the closet at the very end of the hall. Matt stopped in front of it and tried the handle, already knowing it would have been locked even before it clicked weakly in his hand. 

With a low sigh, Matt sank himself down to the floor. He leaned close to the door, letting his forehead bump upon the wood and rest there a few moments as he tried to brew up something to say. He could hear Shiro shift a bit inside, and then the small chirp of Atlas, accompanied by a sniff. There was a glow of a phone screen, the soft white light escaping the dark closet through the crack between the door and the carpet. Matt already knew what website Shiro had been on -- what he had been researching. 

“Shiro, come on,” Matt said quietly. “I know you’re in there.” 

There was a click, and Shiro’s phone light winked out. “No, I’m not,” Shiro’s low voice responded. He was sitting in his normal spot -- up against the old garbage bags of his parent’s clothes, each one stuffed full of everything Shiro couldn’t give up. He leaned against them, his legs pulled up to his chest. If he closed his eyes and breathed in deep enough, he could almost still smell them there -- their scent lingering. The action made him feel better somehow… as if he was receiving a hug from one of them. Atlas was curled in his lap, impatiently chirping for pets.   
“Leave me alone. Go sit with Keith. Me up and leaving was suspicious enough.”   
Matt gave a soft smile and shook his head a little. “Keith up and left too,” he said, leaning his head back up from the door. He crossed his legs, balanced his elbow on his knee, and then placed his head in his palm. “Said he was worried about Kosmo, but then he got all pissed off with someone on the phone. He’s probably in an argument with a boyfriend or something.” 

Shiro shook his head. “He doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Shiro said back, almost defensive. “So he… just left? Do you think it was because of me?”   
Matt gave a groan, and rolled his eyes. “If I had a dollar for every time you blame yourself for something you had no part in, I’d be as rich as you,” he said, smirking at the door. “Come on, Shiro. You know better. Please don’t do this again.” 

With a huff, Shiro scowled in the darkness of his closet, and turned his head away from the door. Away from Matt. “Someone died, Matt,” Shiro mumbled. “They died because of what I did. If I would have just found another way… if I was faster… smarter…” He pinched his eyes closed hard, and clenched his fists a little tighter. “Nobody would have gotten hurt.” 

Matt sighed. “Shiro… you knew getting into this job that there were going to be people you weren’t gonna save,” he said softly, lifting a hand up to press against the door as if Shiro could feel it somehow. “What you did… sure, it wasn’t perfect but… there’s was nothing else. You were out of time. Out of options… but you saved the majority of the people on that train. You saved children, man.”   
“Children who are going to grow up with PTSD and a fear of trains,” Shiro said darkly, voice all too knowing.   
“Well, it’s better than being dead,” Matt snapped, curling his fingers up into a fist on the wood of the closet door. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and then let it go -- nice and steady. “Shiro, this isn’t your common sense talking. It’s survivor’s guilt. You know better, man.” 

“I don’t have survivor’s guilt from some train crash I knew I was going to survive,” Shiro argued, swallowing hard.   
“You know that wasn’t the crash I’m referring to here,” Matt said, not missing a beat. He shifted a little closer to the closet, pressing his head against the wood of the door again. “Shiro, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You heard the reporter -- you have a lot of actual police officers saying you did the right thing. Sure, Allura blamed you, but the only reason she hates you is because of what happened with her father. You’re a hero, man. You know that. Why the hell else would you let yourself get beat up by assholes every other night? Why else would you throw away all your sleep? Why else would you literally turn your parents company into a health science facility instead of a weapons one? Don't even get me started on all the orphans you’ve given money to, man.”

Shiro fluttered open his eyes, and looked to the strip of amber light beneath the door, recognizing the gentle shadow of Matt sitting right outside for him. “Why do you deal with this?” Shiro asked quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “With me? I do this all the time… Why even bother anymore?”   
Matt gave a snort. “Well, because you helped me off of the streets, kept me from starving, got me a job, got my sister into school, got my parents health insurance and a bigger house. You’re also my best friend, and have been since middle school. That’s just naming a few things.” He began to push up from the floor, hoisting himself to his feet and reaching for the door knob. “Also, you have a shit ton of work to get done. No time for wallowing in your own guilt.” 

Shiro blinked a little in the darkness. “Oh. You’re right. I do have work to do.” His voice was quiet, a little anxious. Completely and utterly full of exhaustion.   
Matt turned the doorknob again, letting the lock rattle in place. “Come on out,” he said, using his other hand to gently knock on the door. “I’ll make you some coffee and give you one of those boxer-massages while you finish off the rest of your reports. Like Rocky. Then after you can nap all you want.” 

There was a moment of silence while Shiro contemplated it. It passed, however, and Shiro pushed up from his place on the floor, letting his hand linger a moment or so on the bags of clothes. In his prosthetic he held the purring Atlas to his chest, keeping her close and secure in the crook of his metal arm. He then turned to the door, unlocked it, and then, once Matt had released the knob, Shiro opened it, peering tiredly into Matt’s smiling face. 

“We still need to discuss You-Know-Who’s next target,” he said, stepping out into the hall. “That gets done before napping. I don’t know about you, but I want that guy out of my hair.”   
Matt nodded and took ahold of Shiro’s free hand, pulling him away from the closet and down the stairs. “Oh believe me, I’m sick of that little prick, man. I just can’t wait to see who’s behind the mask -- oh you better pound the asshole’s face in when you figure it out.”

Shiro gave a soft laugh and nodded his head. “Oh, definitely,” he said, liking how quickly Matt had dropped the mentioning of Shiro’s problems. “He’s gonna wish we’d never met.”


	4. Publicity

"Yeah, of course I want you to come," Shiro said with a laugh, shaking his head a bit before taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm about to become one of the most powerful people in Voltropolis, and they expect me to give a speech that'll move mountains. I need some friendly faces in that crowd."

He was leaned against his breakfast bar, elbows propped against the polished stone of the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in his one hand, and a printed copy of his speech in the other, eyes running down it in one last check over his notes. Keith was there, his head in Shiro's fridge. He had stopped by for some milk, but then stayed for breakfast and now lunch as he dug out some fresh cold cuts from one of the drawers. Shiro set down his speech and watched Keith carry the cold cuts to the breakfast bar and spread them all out, looking at each one to decide which to compose his sandwich from.

"I can get you a nice suit to wear. I got Matt one, too. My tailor really knows how to work last minute," he continued, smiling at Keith over his coffee cup. "I know you don't really like parties, so you don't have to go to the ceremony afterwards, but... it would be nice to shoot you a glance whenever I get nervous or something, you know?"

Shiro couldn't tell if he was nervous or not. His head had been so caught up in You-Know-Who and the train wreck to care too much about his company or his title. In fact, he had pulled yet another sleepless night the night prior, studying each printed screenshot from the server Matt had hacked and each name on each list -- every address imprinted in his mind. Shiro almost believed he had You-Know-Who's database more memorized than his actual speech. It wasn't until the sun began to peek through the folds of Shiro's dark drapes that he realized he had stayed up too long.

He had taken a quick nap -- about an hour thirty at the most -- and woke up before Keith had shown so he could cover his bags and his fading bruises up with concealer. Shiro had only just then brought up the topic of inviting Keith because his tired brain hadn't thought of it before he saw him bent over by the fridge, digging through meats and cheeses and condomens for the perfect sandwich.

"Well," Keith said from his place by the breakfast bar, currently buttering his bread. "If you know how much I hate these events, you'd know how badly I want to say no." Actually, he had something scheduled for today and he didn't want to have to push it back an hour or two. "But you're difficult to say no to. Would I really have to wear a suit? Those things are always scratchy and uncomfortable," he then proceeded to whine, seeing if he could shake Shiro off of the idea instead of just flat out refusing to go. He wouldn't really mind going for Shiro's sake, despite how he seemed to contradict that with every thing he said.

Finally making his sandwich- with chicken and ham, brushed over with a little mayo- Keith moved to sit beside Shiro to eat. He always visited more and more often when it was the end of the month because that was when he began to run out of money and needed to eat. He felt less guilty stealing Shiro's food than his money.

Shiro smiled at him and rolled his eyes, downing the last sip of his coffee and lifting a hand to rub his tired eyes. He made his way to Keith's side, stealing (could it be stealing? It was his afterall) a piece of ham from the cold cut pile, rolling it up to eat it with his fingers. Shiro had lost his limp, thankfully — the only thing that was left from that night were the dull bruises from that fight, each one fading anyways.

"Yes, you'd have to wear a suit," Shiro said, laughing a little. "It's a very prestigious event. No jeans. No sneakers. No hoodies."

He leaned against the counter next to Keith, reaching up one of his hands to tuck Keith's hair behind his ear. "Besides," he said, voice quiet and deepened with the pitch of gentle teasing — like he was a little kid telling a secret. "It would be kind of interesting to see you all dressed up. I bet you'd be handsome." Shiro winked at him, and pushed up from the counter, taking his empty coffee cup with him to the sink.

Keith was so relieved that he had moved back and looked away after saying that because his cheeks flared vibrantly red at the comment.  
"Yeah," he muttered. "I'll go. But I want you to take me out to eat somewhere afterwards, too, alright?" He finished eating his sandwich and got up, leaving the plate by Shiro at the sink so that he could clean it up. He got no more than a few steps away from Shiro before Atlas came running in, the bell around her neck ringing as she chirped. Keith leant down and swept her up, holding her tenderly in his arms and running his fingers through her fur. Black came in a few seconds later to brush up against Shiro's calves, purring loudly.

"You want me to ditch my own after party?" Shiro asked, laughing a little as he rinsed Keith's plate, setting it beside his cup in the dishwasher. He turned around, and then leaned over to rub Black's head a bit. Shiro was glad she was out of his room — she'd been cooped up in there the entire time Matt had been over. Though the second he had left she had made her grand exit, as sociable as ever with Shiro and especially Keith when he had arrived. She was a shy cat, but not when it came to Keith.

He gave a long sigh as he leaned up, and shrugged his shoulders. "For you, I'm sure I could manage to get out," he said, sighing. "But I have to make at least one appearance, don't I? You can wait in the car while I pop in. Then we can go to Steak and Shake or something — whatever you want." Shiro closed his eyes and shook his head a little. "Matt was right. I spoil you." He gave a soft laugh at his little quip and reached towards Keith so he could pet Atlas some.

"Oh, shut it," Keith said with a smile, giving Shiro a playful glare as he let him pet Atlas. "When's the meeting and when am I expected to get fitted?" He turned to look at Shiro, moving over to him as he set down Atlas, deciding not to fixate on the hairs that had now gotten scattered all over his shirt.

He checked his phone out of habit but there was still nothing from Lance. Still nothing. He was supposed to have checked in by now, to update him on their plan, but there was no news yet. It was a little frustrating, yeah, but he would send him a message later, when Shiro wasn't with him. When Shiro wasn't at risk of seeing and finding something out he shouldn't find out about.

"I'll schedule something for you and text the details — but it'll be around twelve and last until around one or one thirty," Shiro explained, giving Atlas one last scratch behind the ears before leaning up. "That's what I'm hoping for anyways."

He eased back against the counter, easing both hands down on the surface behind him. Shiro tapped the stone with his prosthetic, drumming them up and down — loosening up the mechanics a bit. It glinted weakly in the soft morning light that bled through Shiro's windows, in need of a shine or something. He still hadn't cleaned it since that night of the fire and the train — soft scratches and faint smudges of ash that had gotten past his armor muddled its silvery surface. Shiro studied it dully, blowing some air through his lips.

"Does this look too shabby?" he asked Keith, raising up his arm and pointing to it. "I need to get it fixed up. I haven't in a while. I should probably get that done before the ceremony tonight... can't have a bunch of rich people judging me for an ugly prosthetic when I'm trying to focus my whole company on good prosthetics... hm."

Shiro fell a little silent, looking down at his steel fingers. "I've been meaning to touch it up anyways," he said, shrugging up his shoulders. "The grip is too strong — I can't tell how hard I grab something. Found that out a few nights ago... I don't wanna hurt somebody with it, you know?"

Keith hid his hands behind his back a little more at the comment and averted his eyes, nodding.  
"I think you should clean it up a little," he muttered. "Can't you get An- Matt to help?" He glanced over a little, deciding to fixate on Black and Atlas, who were grooming each other. Well- Black was cleaning Atlas, anyway. Both of them were purring very loudly, though.

He slowly fixed his attention back onto Shiro, figuring that it would be suspicious to keep being so secretive whenever Shiro mentioned these fights. He felt guilty and it was so obvious when he didn't have a mask to hide that.

Shiro noticed Keith's odd shift of his eyes, but he figured it was nothing — it was normal for people around him to get weird whenever he would mention his arm. Even Matt would get a little quiet sometimes, depending on the conversation topic. Shiro assumed it wasn't anything different with Keith... despite everything of course.

"Yeah, he could probably touch it up," Shiro sighed, resting his hand back against the counter. "Knowing Matt he's probably want to add missiles or something, though. I have spare parts in my office — I could just do it myself. I am ambidextrous." He gave a proud sort of grin after the fact, and pushed off of the counter.

He pointed at Keith, other hand patting his back pocket for his cell. "Go ahead and get ready to go," Shiro said, smiling. "I'll schedule your appointment right now. It'll be tight, but Coran's good. He'll fit you in if I ask him to.

"Ugh. Right now?" he leant back a little, groaning in irritation and deciding to focus on something else. "What's the whole speech going to be about, then? Your desire to 'make the world a better place' or something?"

He began after Shiro, watching him collect his phone and ignore the comment to call Coran. Perhaps it had been a little rude to say that but it was hardly his fault that Shiro seemed so dead set on pacifism and making the world better when Shiro didn't deserve it. Shiro had been through a shitty traumatic experience the same way that he had been. Why was it something that pissed him off so much that Shiro started improving himself and the world around him while Keith turned to vigilantism and violence? Why did it annoy him so much that Shiro had such a good life when he could share it if he let Shiro take care of him? He didn't even know why he always refused that help.

Shiro, still watching Keith as he brought the phone to his head, listened for the ringing and the inevitable click of the phone and the loud answer of the tailer. He engaged Coran in a conversation that shouldn't have been as long as it was, and then scheduled Keith an appointment due in about thirty minutes from when Shiro's had ended the call. He stuck the phone in his pocket and looked up at Keith, offering a wan smile.

"Your appointment is set up. I'm sure you heard the times," he said, hand traveling back to his prosthetic, self consciously running his fingers along some of the scratches. "I'll drive you over, head to my office to fix up my arm and get dressed, and pick you up in an hour thirty? That would give me another hour to get there and prepare." Upon earning the gentle yet reluctant nod from Keith, Shiro flashed a wider sort of grin.

He nodded to the door, and began to walk -- a gesture he did a lot on the job. Keith followed him, as expected, setting Atlas down and waving both her and Black goodbye. Shiro told them both that he'd be back later, and stopped at his front door, running his eyes along the visible suite as he racked his brain for something he missed. He turned his gaze to Keith, and paused before turning the door knob, cocking his head a little.

"And yes, by the way," he said, cocking his brow. "My speech does touch on my desire to make the world a better place. I didn't turn my parent's company into a health and environmental science facility because of my unchecked rage and hatred of mankind -- I'm sure I have to clear that up." When his joke didn't receive a laugh, Shiro offered a sigh and rolled his eyes, turning the doorknob and opening it up -- holding it for Keith. "If you came and actually listened to me rehearse, maybe you'd know." Another joke, but a little more icy. Keith responded to it with a glare that Shiro didn't deserve and pushed past him, arms wrapping around himself a little like the gesture would protect him from the guilt eating at him from his stomach.

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't Shiro's, either. Keith was going to be putting himself in a very uncomfortable situation for Shiro's sake, surely a few snappy remarks could be dismissed for that. He got to the elevator and moved into the corner, leaning against the side.

"Don't get too close," he told Shiro, glaring at the floor now. "Everyone here thinks I'm contagious. I don't want them thinking I'm your project." That was both for Shiro's sake and his own. He could stand the malicious glares but he couldn't cope with the pity. He didn't want people to think Shiro was taking care of him and immediately pretend that they cared about him.

That was the same reason why he didn't tell people he knew Shiro; 'people' being Lance, as he wasn't really close with anyone else.

Shiro nodded quietly, as he did every time Keith made such a request, and stepped to the side — away from Keith. His own guilt began to take root in his chest. Shiro always hated having to treat Keith so coldly in public, all because of his social status, and Keith's inability to accept help or praise. He never vocalized the feelings though. They would all be shut down the same way — with the same mumble or the same glare. Shiro was already beginning to regret asking Keith to wear a suit or even come to his stupid ceremony. Was he forcing Keith into something? He probably didn't care all that much about Shiro's promotion anyways.

It didn't seem like it, at least.

The elevator dinged as it touched down upon the bottom floor. Shiro watched as Keith started out from the metallic doorways without him, walking as though he had a firm purpose — acting as though all the looks and the stares he had gotten from the other hotel residents weren't even there. Shiro followed after there had been some distance between them, and met him in the parking garage of the hotel — catching sight of him leaning against Shiro's sleek red one. He had three in that garage, and three more (including his trashy mission car) in another one a few miles away. Keith always liked the red car the best — the one with the black streaks and the shiny gleam. Shiro didn't like riding it out in public because it attracted too much of an audience, but he sighed and trekked to it anyways.

"Any particular reason you like this one so much?" Shiro asked once he had settled himself down in the expensive leather seat. "It's kind of flashy, don't you think?"

"I just like it," Keith answered dismissively as he slumped into the passenger side, stretching out his legs a little in the footwell and pulling the door closed behind him. He turned to look at Shiro as he clipped in his seatbelt, though he quickly averted his eyes. "I can't help it. So is it a thirty minute drive to get to Coran's?" he asked, eyes fixing on the window to study outside. He was bored. He wanted something to do that wasn't sitting around and getting fitted for a suit before he'd slot into a crowd of people he hated. "Will I have to get a haircut? I haven't had one in months." He refrained from adding the detail that he couldn't afford to get them anymore. "I appreciate the suit, Shiro- I really do- but what's going to happen to it when I stop wearing it? Because I can't risk leaving it at my place with Kosmo. I don't want it to get damaged in case we do any more of these in the future."

He sank into the seat a little more when Shiro started to drive, getting comfy. He liked this car because people always cared more about the car itself than the fact that Keith was sitting in it. Besides- the colour scheme was nice. He really liked the red.

Shiro gave a soft sigh, and formed his many answers to Keith's many questions in his head. He did that often -- let a tirade of questions out one after another before Shiro would have a chance to answer them all properly. Shiro had a system of simply answering them in order once he knew for certain Keith had been finished. It worked for the both of them.

"The drive might be a little longer with traffic," he answered as he drove his way towards the exit of the parking garage. "You don't have to cut your hair, but at least brush it a bit. I'll keep your suit at my place and you can just swing by and grab it whenever you need to."

He pulled out from the garage and into the streets of Voltropolis, inching his way along the late morning traffic, the radio humming quietly from his car speakers -- splitting up the silence and making a bit more tolerable. Keith, unlike Matt, was never one for talking on the road. Shiro liked the quiet a little better anyways; it always helped him focus on the world around him a bit better. He could spot potential crashes easier when the car was quiet. It was the perfect ride really. Someone silent beside him, the sounds of soft music or a talk show humming from his speakers, the quietest purr of the quietest electric motor, and the air conditioning at a low setting -- Shiro liked it cold.

The perfect ride didn't last long.

Ten minutes in and they were making good time, so good they'd likely be early to the appointment. Shiro had been pulling up to a stoplight when the radio cut out -- the speakers bursting into the jingle of Shiro's cell, already connected to the car via bluetooth. Both Shiro and Keith had jumped, but once Shiro regained his bearings, he clicked one of the buttons on the inside of his steering wheel and answered the call. It was Matt -- the large screen on the center consul told him so. Shiro watched Keith roll his eyes from his peripheral, but he ignored it, letting the call through.

"Hey," Matt drawled from the car speakers, the word drawn out and tired. He'd likely been getting as much sleep as Shiro had, trying to hack back into that system and all. They had cracked down on security since the last time. Shiro and Matt would likely need another flashdrive to get in again. "I've got some important info we might have missed-"

Shiro tensed and flicked his eyes to Keith, cutting Matt off. "I'm on speaker," he said hurriedly, watching as the light turned from red to green. He eased forwards on the gas, head cocked forwards to try and keep his suddenly concerned gaze from Keith's eyes. "Keith's here. Say hi, Keith."

"Hey, Matt," Keith drawled out, sinking into his chair. He could do with knowing what Matt knows, too.

"Uh, hey Keith," he muttered back through the radio, his voice a bit flat. "Shiro, can you take it off speaker? This is important."

Shiro shook his head. "I'm driving Matt," he said, sighing. The nerves coiled up in his stomach. "No phones. Just tell me or hang up and tell me later. It's not that big of a deal."

There was a long, aggravated huff from the other end. "Fine, fine," he growled, the shuffling of fabric and the rustling of a chip bag whispering somewhere on his side of the call. "It's about DnD. Our campaign, you know?"

Shiro gave a laugh, his anxiety settling at the sudden absurdness. "Dungeons and Dragons?" he asked, snorting. "This was an emergency call about Dungeons and Dragons? We haven't even pl-"

"Shut up, Shiro, and listen," Matt said over him. There was the clickety-clacking of his heavy keyboard and another rustle of chips. Shiro shut up, and he leaned in a little,listening. "Turns out the wizard we're trying to capture might be going to an event. I spent a while thinking about the... scrolls we found in that dungeon? There's a code to it. A secret pattern. Our wizard pal might get asked to show up at a very special event at the, uhm, kingdom's medical center, if you will. While the, uhh, lead doctor is giving his speech. Do you know where and what I'm talking about?"

Shiro had gone completely silent, understanding each and every little reference or cover. They hadn't played Dungeons and Dragons since high school, but the cover was perfect. He nodded, despite Matt not seeing him, and bit back the urge to swear. "I understand," he said softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Do we know why wizard pal is gonna crash the med tents?"

"Yep. His next target is there," Matt responded, the proud smile audible in his words. "It's not really crashing anyways. He's just scoping his target out. I figured next campaign you and I could try and stop him before he even gets a chance to meet and greet his next victim? We'd have to roll over a fifteen on an insight check, of course, but I'm sure the DM would let us investigate. You are pretty great with those nat twenties."

"We'll talk to the DM, see what we can do," Shiro affirmed, nodding his head. "But now's not the time to talk about DnD, alright Matt? I'm sure we're freaking Keith out with this nerdery. I'll call you while Keith's getting fitted for his suit and we can talk some more, okay?"

"Alright," Matt said, laughing a little. "And good luck with Coran, Keith. That guy sure is a talker. Bye Shiro."

"Bye Matt."

With that, Shiro quickly pressed down the button on his steering wheel, ending the call. He gave a long sigh and leaned back in his seat, shaking his head bitterly as his suddenly very tired eyes trained upon the road. "Sorry," he muttered, voice a bit darker. "DnD is important to Matt. We play whenever we can with our old highschool buddies. I'm a half-elf paladin -- best fighter in the group. Just passed the dragonborn."

He swallowed hard, trying to ease the tension from his tone. "We've been tracking this wizard down for a while but we keep getting distracted by side quests," Shiro explained, hoping that venting in some way would help ease the sudden rushing of his head. "But the thing is this guy keeps screwing us over. It's like the Dungeon Master wants me-... uh I mean us, to just give up. Not to mention our group hasn't slept in like five days but this asshole just keeps screwing with everything so we don't ever have time to just take a long rest. And of course my character is the busiest because he's a paladin and he has to work and he has to go to the temple and he has to do literally everything because he's apparently the only Lawful Good in the whole freaking kingdom. And now this wizard guy is gonna try to mess everything up again but my character is the only one who can stop him because my stats are so damn good." Shiro's grip had tightened on the steering wheel, words growled through his gritted teeth. Once he felt Keith's stare from beside him, he relaxed a bit and settled back into his chair, letting loose a great sigh. "Sorry... we've had this campaign for like months and months now. All of this is in game drama, of course. I don't regret choosing my character, though. Someone has to wrangle in all the chaotic neutrals and chaotic evils in the world, hm?"

Shiro stopped at another light, and turned his head to look at Keith, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?" he asked,

"Not a word," Keith answered with a soft grin, glancing at Shiro. In fact, he'd understood everything that Matt had been subtly saying but when Shiro got into the actual game to try and throw him off or make the random and incredibly suspicious call seem more normal- that was when he got lost usually.

He leant back in his seat, reaching over to turn the music on instead of the talk show that it flicked back to after the call. Another little smile curled onto his lips.  
"Is there a reason why you didn't tell me that Coran is a talker? Because I don't want to be forced into every conversation that he could throw me into. You know that, Shiro."

Shiro gave a soft laugh, and shrugged his shoulders a little. He felt a little uneasy, having shared so much so impulsively, but Keith didn't seem to care. The Dungeons and Dragons design seemed to put him off from thinking anything strange of Matt's message or Shiro's blunt rambling. And even if he thought it was weird, there would be no way Keith would understand any of it — at least that's what Shiro was sure of.

"Oh, he's not that bad," he said slowly, pitch raising a bit with a teasing sort of quality. "He's just... friendly. He's got a neat accent, too. I think he's from New Zealand or something. You two will get along fine."

 

"Yeah," Keith said, sending him a slight glass and frowning a little more. "Yeah. I mean- if you say that we'd get along, then I can give it a chance. But you did say the same thing about Curtis, so bear that in mind." He kept his tone light and joking, though, not wanting to take his words as malicious or rude. In fact, he didn't even dislike Curtis that much. He seemed fine. He had dogs, he wasn't shallow, and if Shiro liked him there had to be a reason.

But that was also the reason why Keith didn't like him.

Jealousy might not be good look on Keith but that didn't mean that he wouldn't wear it every day. He might try to cover it up or act as if he doesn't care but in all honesty he only hated Curtis because Shiro seemed to be so interested in him. It just overwhelmed him sometimes, thinking of how Shiro was always so nice to him but all of Shiro's friends thought of him as a basket case, a cockblock, a poor kid with a poorer backstory and hardly anything keeping him alive but benefits and the money his mother sent home. He was just there to tag along with Shiro, but he had an affinity for the things that couldn't look after themselves. Why else would he have taken in Atlas, a blind cat from the street? Why else would he have taken in Keith, who would likely be far worse off than he already was if he didn't have Shiro to depend on?

"I hope I do get along with him," he muttered a few moments later. "Just because I don't want it to be uncomfortable when I'm getting fitted."

Shiro nodded, but he didn't say anything more on the topic. He even waited a few moments before bothering to speak — catching the odd shift to Keith's mumbling.

"How's your hand?" he asked, flicking his turn signal. "Feeling any better?"

They were close to Coran's — they were also going to be a bit early, which was rather surprising due to all the cleanup traffic around the crash site. Shiro figured some last minute small talk would be nice, maybe even leave a nice taste in his mouth before he would call Matt and ruin it with talk of You-Know-Who. In fact, Shiro was desperate for the distraction. The topic of the night's worries hung over him like a over casted shadow, weighing him down. Keith was currently like the light, he supposed, washing away the darkness of Shiro's new enemy...

"Eh," Keith shrugged a little. "It's healing but slowly, as you'd expect. It'll be alright eventually." he leant back, closing his eyes and relaxing. He always felt like he could relax when he was in a car with Shiro. He felt safe and he knew that Shiro wouldn't even risk doing something stupid. It was a relief.

 

He didn't feel safe in many places anymore.

"What about you, though? You're not limping anymore which- yes I did notice- and you don't seem to be so badly beaten up. What happened to you? I never got around to asking because I didn't think you wanted me to ask about it." Actually, he'd been holding off on asking so that Shiro could have time to come up with an excuse but then it would have just been weird to ask every other chance he'd gotten.

Shiro promptly blushed, and bit at the inside of his cheek. "Oh, it was nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Overworked myself at the gym -- pulled my calf muscle. That along with boxing lessons kinda roughed me up. Fun fact: I would certainly never win a fight. I'm not very coordinated." Shiro flicked his eyes over to Keith for a second or so as he waited his turn at the intersection. "I... I hoped you wouldn't notice... Thanks for not asking around Matt, though. He would have made fun of me for it."

"Yeah," Keith nodded despite knowing that that was bullshit. "That sounds like him."

Shiro made his turn at the intersection and pulled into the parking lot nearly a block after, pulling up to the front doors of Coran's Tux and fitting store, and setting the car into park. He turned to look at Keith, a fond smile gracing his lips as he studied the man beside him. "Alright, Shiro express drops you off here. You ready to look like a hundred bucks?" he asked, cocking his head. When Keith gave him an incredulous sort of stare, Shiro huffed out a laugh, a patted his pocket for his wallet. "Technically it'll be around two hundred. I'm paying him extra for getting you in so quickly." He fished out one of his cards from his leather wallet, and then held it out for Keith. "Use this one. The pin is Atlas's birthday -- 08-10. Don't feel bad about spending anything extra. Think about it like you're buying this all for me because I'm keeping it at my place anyways."

Keith looked up at him and took the card despite his reluctance.

"Where are you going to be, then?" he asked, keeping a tight hold on the card and opening the car door, though he was waiting for an answer before he would get out. "Picking up Matt or going to see Curtis?" Which reminded him to check his phone for a moment- but there was still nothing from Lance. No information on the plan for tonight. Lance's absence was growing frustrating- it was really irritating to not have someone constantly updating him when that was literally Lance's job.

Shiro shot him a glance from the corner of his eyes, wondering where he had gotten the Curtis idea from. "Neither," he said, lying. "I'm gonna go to my office and see what I can do with my arm. If I happen to get some help from Matt or maybe even Curtis while I'm there, I'll be sure to update you, nosy." Shiro gave a soft laugh, and then pointed his hand towards the building behind them. "But come on, this is a no parking lane. You gotta go. I'll text you."

Keith just nodded and got out of the car, pushing the door shut behind him and starting to the shop to get fitted. He'd been hoping that Shiro would be there, too, but he always forgot about how busy Shiro was. Now he just wanted to get out of here or to get this over with.

~~~

"Are you nervous?"

Curtis's voice snapped Shiro from his watchful daze -- tugging his gaze from the crowd of sitting workers, doctors, and businessmen and women to meet Curtis's supportive smile. He shook his head a little, lifting a hand to brush his bangs back a bit. "No," he said, half-lying, half-not. Shiro was nervous... but not so much about the speech. "Just a little zoned out."

Curtis gave a snort. "Well, don't zone out when you get to the podium, alright?" he said, lifting a hand to pat Shiro's shoulder. "You'll be fine. I'll be right next to you. You said... Keith... will be right in front of you. And your buddy, uh, Matthew? Matthew is out there somewhere."

Shiro almost didn't even recognize who Curtis had been talking about for a moment. "Oh, Matt," he said softly, blinking. "Yeah, Matt is out there... somewhere..."

He knew exactly where Matt had been. Four rows from the stage, in the six seat in from the right. Promptly four seats away from You-Know-Who's suspected next target. He had cameras in those thin frames of his large glasses, and microphones attached to the collar of his suit. The feed from his glasses were displayed on Shiro's computer in his tightly locked and even heavily guarded office, while the audio played in Shiro's right ear. Matt was there to alert Shiro if anything would go amiss, but he was also there to give Shiro notes on his speech if he needed any. He had the flashcards in his hands -- insisting that cheating was okay due to the lack of sleep Shiro had been getting. Shiro had hesitantly agreed, just to make things perfect, and slipped the com into his ear.

Curtis had been the one to help him with his arm earlier. He had caught Shiro tinkering it from the open door of Shiro's office, and offered his much needed help. Curtis held the tools while Shiro messed with the settings, and he even let Shiro test it out on him -- shaking his hand, holding his hand, things like that. He helped Shiro close and seal back the metallic flap that took them to the core settings because it really was a two handed job, and each grace of Curtis's accidental touch seemed to wind Shiro's heart up a little further. He... he might have been able to call it a silly little crush after the events of that afternoon. Nothing like real feelings, just a temporary infatuation. Maybe he did kind of want to sleep with him... but Shiro knew that didn't really mean anything.

He didn't even know what sleeping with someone really was like, anyways...

To make matters worse, in that moment Shiro had been thinking back to it, Curtis had been fixing up Shiro's suit -- smoothing down the wrinkles by pressing his hand down Shiro's chest. He tried to keep his breath steady, and his eyes averted, wondering just what it was he was feeling. Shiro had only gained feelings for another person once... and his interest in Curtis was nothing like what he had with Adam. Shiro just didn't know what that meant... did it mean that his feelings for Curtis were just less important or were they...

More?

"Almost time to get out there," Curtis said, taking a step back. "You look great, Shiro."

Shiro blinked hard as he flushed the thoughts away -- realizing it was no time to get caught up in his inexperience of love and romance. He blushed at Curtis's slight comment, anyways, and rose his shoulders a bit. "Thanks," he said softly, reaching up his cool prosthetic to rub the back of his rather warm, prickling neck. He turned his head to try and see past the curtain again, giving one last good survey. "Let's hope the speech goes great... wait. Where's..."

He straighten up a little, trailing off so he would walk his way to the curtain. Shiro gave a soft sigh that was almost even an annoyed groan. Curtis gave a quiet what? behind him, but Shiro ignored it, shaking his head a little and closing his eyes. Shiro should have known Keith wouldn't have wanted to stay in that crowd for that long... he should have expected that Keith would leave his seat empty just two minutes before Shiro would get on stage. There shouldn't have been any surprise... any sort of feeling other than a sense of him recognizing Keith had left.

There shouldn't have been that slight ache latching on somewhere in his chest cavity.

Unlike those feelings from Curtis, Shiro recognized that feeling right away.

For some reason, he felt it a lot when it came to Keith.

However, for the first time, Keith hadn't wanted to leave. He hadn't wanted to turn his back on Shiro like that. He just hadn't had a choice not to. Lance had suddenly called him and given him all of the information on his next target- when to kill him and where and how to get him there so he'd needed to leave so that he could slip on his suit under his tux- which was incredibly uncomfortable. He was currently on the phone to Lance again, tucked away in a storage closet a few halls down so Lance could tell him every single detail that he needed to know. Keith had, of course, asked if he could do it after Shiro's speech so that he didn't give him too much more anxiety but Lance had scolded him for even considering it. "There are more important things than Puppy", Lance had told him. Keith didn't feel the need to acknowledge that.

He did soon reenter the hall, though. He'd need to if he wanted to follow the victim-to-be into another hall, slotting down into his seat just as Shiro was coming out and ignoring the dirty looks he got for nearly being late. And, finally, he settled down, giving Shiro a thumbs-up. He could only stay for seven or eight minutes- everything was perfectly set up with only thirty seconds of flexibility. He couldn't risk doing the wrong thing or being late. He couldn't even imagine the amount of trouble he would get in for that.

Shiro entire dismal sort of mopiness had lightened up instantly the moment he spotted Keith in his seat with that cute little thumbs up. He offered Keith a playful narrow of his eyes as he moved up to the podium, standing beside it as the previous CEO, a sour old man who went by the name of Iverson, built up his introduction. Shiro spared glances towards Keith, whispering a quiet 'he didn't leave, actually' for Matt to hear in the comm, speaking under the loud audio of Iverson's rambling.

"Not yet," Matt snickered into his ear. "Emo basket case probably isn't a fan of front row next to all the uber-rich folks. Stoner basket case isn't even comfortable all the way back here. Oh, shit -- I shouldn't have said that so loud. I just got a judgemental 'tut' from the guy in front of me."

It was hard to stifle a laugh, so Siro just settled for a smile. "Just stay focused on the target," Shiro said softly, knowing that only the front row would see his lips move and that most of them likely wouldn't even think anything of it.

"Yeah, yeah. He's doing fine. Just break a leg and wow some doctors up there."

"Will do," Shiro said, straightening up his posture when he sensed Iverson had been getting ready to step aside for Shiro to start. "Don't let him out of your sights."

"Will do."

Iverson finished his introduction, and gestured to Shiro before moving aside, stepping off the podium to allow Shiro to take his place. Shiro did, a tangle of sudden anxiety darting about his insides the second his foot touched upon the raised surface, but he let the anxiety subside as the applause did. He had done speeches many times before... this one was no different. There was only one complication and that was the interference of You-Know-Who... but Shiro assure himself as the last few claps rang about the large hall of Shirogane Mechanics and Health that Matt was there and Matt would take care of it. He flicked one last gaze to Keith, let his lips curl into a smile, and then he started talking -- voice smooth.

It was a dashing speech, really. Even if one didn't know or care to know about anything Shiro had been talking about, they couldn't have helped but to be enthralled by his manner of speaking. Every absent gesture of his hand, every pause, every charming smile or even the chaste wink or two -- they had all been perfect. Shiro knew he'd been something of a heart throb since his early teens, and my, did he use it to his advantage. Despite the lack of sleep and the obsession over Matt's lists of suspects and victims, Shiro seemed to remember his speech perfectly. Almost... that is.

His confident nature had faltered a bit when he noticed Keith's seat had, once again, been empty.

Matt had whispered the next word through the comm and startled Shiro back into his suave autopilot, but the ache was back in his chest again despite his mind's reassurance that Keith had just stepped out for a moment or so. He found himself forgetting all about it as he continued onto the topic of his company's future, and the legacy he hoped to leave behind. Shiro's speech was closed on the topic of his parents, and how he said he hoped they were happy with his work, where ever they might have been. It was a good, honest touch -- a bit out of character to mention them like that, of course, but it was a positive enough message to allow him to bear through it. He ended with a quiet thank you, and the room erupted into applause.

Keith's seat was... still empty.

Shiro kept his smile bright and unfazed as he stepped down from the podium, trying to keep a pretty face for all the photographers and the press. Iverson had stepped back up and said that questions should be saved for the next day -- where Shiro would be attending a conference and an interview. Shiro suppressed a cringe at the reminder, turning his head a bit to try and properly speak to Matt.

"You were right," he said softly. "Keith ditched. I hope he shows back up before dinner... I was kind of looking forwards to Steak and Shake."

Matt gave a soft sigh in his ear. "Sorry man," he mumbled. "You did great. I literally didn't understand half of it, but you had me hooked the whole time. You could freaking win the presidential election with a voice like that."

Shiro gave a half-hearted snort. "So I've been told," he muttered, shaking his head a little. "You got eyes on our target."

"Yep. Looks like he's getting ready to leave. You want me to tail him?"

Shiro took a second to think about it. "No. Not by yourself, it could be dangerous," he said, shaking his head. "Instead go up to him and hand him your comm. I'll tell him to come up by the stage and talk to me directly -- nobody would pass that up. Maybe if he works for me I'll give him a raise. Or if he works somewhere else I'll pay his boss to give him a raise."

"Dude, seriously?"

"If it keeps him from getting murdered, I'd give him a freaking pony," Shiro affirmed, nodding his head. "Just don't let him out of the hall. While I talk to him, figure out a way to get him home safely. Once he's there I'll give the police an anonymous tip to keep an eye on his place or maybe even get him into protection services. No one else is burning on my watch."

"Alrighty, buddy. And if they try and give you another sort of train distraction?"

Shiro paused to think again, growing a little uncomfortable. He turned his head a little more to keep the cameras from catching his sour frown. "Then You-Know-Who and whoever the hell he works for is in for a big enemy," Shiro muttered darkly.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Shiro turned around to face a smiley Curtis. He had just moved through the curtain, a fond sparkle in his eye as he brought a hand to Shiro's shoulder (which was one of Shiro's rather notorious moves!). Shiro instantly blushed, and his mind flushed blank, entire body heating up with pink.

"You did great, Shiro," Curtis said, grinning.

Shiro blinked. "I-uh... thank you, Curtis," he said back, laughing dryly. Matt muttered something about Shiro being a disaster, and that he was going to talk to the target, but Shiro tuned him out. "I'm glad you liked it... I'm... I'm not sure everyone did."

Curtis cocked his head. "Well, it's not like anyone just got up and left, right?" he asked in a sort of joking manner, the phrase making Shiro's stomach twist.

"Hah... yeah..."

"You're going to the after party, right?" Curtis asked, his tone one of somebody ready to shoot their shot. "I was wondering if maybe you wouldn't mind hanging out with me. Sure you'll have other party guests and everything, but maybe we could talk or maybe just dance?"

Shiro's heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. His insides clenched with guilt and then festered with dilemma. "I... oh, Curtis that sounds great-... it sounds wonderful..."

"There's a 'but', isn't there?"

There was a long moment where Shiro could do nothing but recognize the pinch of hurt in Curtis's tone. He averted his eyes, and promptly nodded. "I'm... busy. There's work and there's questions I have to prepare for tomorrow and there's people I need to speak to and then... I also promised Keith I'd take him out for shakes if he came and watched me-"

"But did he watch you, Shiro?" Curtis's voice was a little cool.

The specificness of his comment about people getting up and leaving suddenly made sense... the feeling that followed Shiro's recognition was almost dreadful -- it left him speechless for a second or so.

"Shiro, we have a problem. I can't find the target."

"What?" Shiro blurted without realizing, suddenly feeling as if everything had been going wrong at once.   
"What?" Curtis said back, blinking a bit. He cringed, and then blushed. "I... sorry, that was rude wasn't it?"

Shiro shook his head. "N-... no. No it wasn't you. I thought I heard something..."

"Shiro, stop failing at romance and come help me."

Shiro took a step backwards. "I... I have to go. I'm so sorry-"

"What's wrong, Shiro?" Curtis said, his tone suddenly deepened and softened with concern. His brow furrowed, and he reached out one of those strong, handsome hands of his. "Can I help?"

He shook his head fast. "It's nothing. I just have... things to get done. I'll see you tomorrow at the office."

With that, Shiro turned and left -- making his way past the curtain and into his empty building, muttering something about leaving out the back entrance so he could avoid the crowds to Matt, ignoring the calling of his name from Curtis behind him.

Ignoring that ache in his chest from Keith.

Speaking of Keith, however, he was currently in the hall with the mask tugged on. He'd hung up the blazer of his suit in a storage closet, hidden behind a row of cleaning supplies, but he hadn't had time to take off the rest of his suit before Lance told him that he had to go. He'd snatched up the canister of gasoline stored in the closet with him and he continued down the hall. His target, someone he didn't know the name of, was in the fifth smallest room. His packet of matches was in his back pocket and, if he were lucky, he'd get all of this over with and be back inside for the end of Shiro's speech. Or, at least, before Shiro picked up on the fact that the target was missing.

He stepped into the empty room, kicking the door shut behind him.  
"Alright," he said to the man stood before him- who wore a name tag bearing 'Haxus'. So much for not knowing his name. "We should get this over with. I don't have much time."

He'd already outlined most of the floor with gasoline. The fumes were already heavy in the air. All he had to do was set the room on fire and lie some gasoline in front of the door. The man, Haxus, turned to look at him. Keith's mask might have made an appearance in the news sometime because recognition seemed to cross his features- before they contorted into anger.

"You!" He'd hissed, his voice gravelly and low. Keith was already taking the matches from his pocket. "You plan on killing me? For what?"

Keith just sighed.

"I'm not going to waste my time," he murmured, striking the match and holding it between his index finger and thumb- directly above a little pool of gasoline. Haxus seemed to be realising that he was in danger, glaring at Keith, but knowing better than to expect hostility to get him anywhere.

"Wait! I'll give you money!" he said, but Keith didn't falter.  
"You've got until this match starts burning short to convince me not to kill you."

"I've got millions! I can give you money, fame, riches! I can give you anything that you want!"

But if Keith cared about being given money, he would just accept it from Shiro. This seemed pointless. He didn't do this for money's sake, he just did it. His 'employers' weren't even motivating him- just telling him who of their ranks they could do with getting rid of for whichever reasons. The second that he felt the flame licking at his fingertips, he dropped the match into the gasoline and watched it spread throughout the room. Before this could draw attention, however, he took the canister and opened it. He stepped outside the doorway to pour it where he'd been stood, cutting of Haxus's only exit. And, finally, he threw the canister to him.  
"You might be able to kill yourself quicker with that!" He called to him, closing the door and- just to ensure that Haxus wouldn't be able to escape- clicking it locked.

The alarm began to blare and he turned to run, back to the supply closet to tug off his mask and pull on his blazer. He left after a moment, running back to the hall- and opening the door to see Shiro had just been coming down this way.

"Shiro! I was- I was in the toilets and I heard the alarm-!"

Shiro, who had Matt yelling in his ear already, felt his system whirl with shock at the sight of Keith so close to what had to be real danger. He ran to meet Keith halfway, taking a firm hold of his arm and settling his other hand on Keith's shoulder.

"You have to get out of here. It's not safe," he said, his commanding voice stern. His eyes were soft, however, and slightly panicked, looking over Keith to make sure nothing had been wrong with. Matt, who had slipped back into Shiro's office, had been yelling at Shiro to just go already -- but Shiro didn't seem to care. "Are you hurt? Nobody tried to hurt you, did they?"

"No, no- It's- I'm okay," he said, looking up at Shiro.

Shiro nodded, and then patted Keith's shoulder. "Get outside and wait in my car. Lock the doors. I'll be right back for you." With that, Shiro moved around Keith, not leaving him a second to argue as he dashed back towards the source of the flames.

Keith watched him go, Matt following, a small grin curling onto his lips. Shiro would be fine, he knew that much, but for Shiro to just trust him so openly? Keith began out of the hall to Shiro's car, settling in the passenger seat and calling Lance to tell him how successful it was- how Shiro still didn't suspect a thing.

It was smokier the further Shiro progressed. He didn't have his mask -- he was exposed to the black, charred sorts of scents and fumes that made his throat itch and his chest leap with coughs. As he passed panicked civilians, he pointed them towards exits. Further down the hall towards the ablazed room, Shiro had given his coat to someone who'd been just racking with coughs. The person the man had been with followed Shiro's directions out to the exit where the wail of an ambulance could be heard rather clearly. Stopping to help each and every person was slowing him down from saving the one in real danger... but he didn't care. He didn't care every time Matt warned him he was running out of time. He didn't care when Matt's focus shifted off of the target and onto Shiro's own health, telling him to turn back before the smoke exposure hurt him too bad.

Shiro was gonna try to save every last one if it killed him.

He reached the door, the flames casting a yellow-orange glow beneath the slot of the door and the floor. Without thinking, Shiro went for the doorknob with his human hand, earning a shout from Matt and then a rather painful bite upon his palm and his fingertips from the burning meal. Shiro hissed a breath through his teeth, and shook his hand, reaching out with his prosthetic to try and open the door. The handle did turn, but the door was jammed. Shiro tugged with all his prosthetic strength but it wouldn't even budge.

"Damnit!" Shiro shouted, stepping back away from the door.

The wood around it was groaning -- the flames would escape soon. He thought about trying to kick the door in, but before he knew it he felt a hand wrench onto his arm, the black visor of a fireman's mask appearing just beside him. A loud voice told him that he had to go -- that he needed an oxygen mask, that he needed protection, that he shouldn't have been back there -- and Shiro just told them there had been a person in there. They ended up having to drag him away to the exit. He didn't realize how bad his coughing had been until he breathed in the sweet air of the night, looking down at his black smudged hands and the pinkish burns of his right one. 

Well, was all his dismal system could provide him with as the fireman guided Shiro to the truck for an oxygen mask. At least I have a good excuse for the burn.

You don't have to lie this time, Shiro.


	5. The Red Flame

They didn’t end up going to steak and shake- but mostly because Shiro’s throat was horribly scratched up and he coughed between every other word. Keith didn’t argue. And, though he disgusted himself when he thought of it, he didn’t feel any guilt for Shiro’s condition. It wasn’t his fault that Shiro hadn’t left when his health was at risk. It wasn’t his fault that Shiro was just such a good fucking person that he cared more about others than his own health. 

But just because he didn’t feel guilty didn’t mean that his heart didn’t ache in his chest when he saw the poor condition Shiro was in.

They went to Keith’s house to collect Kosmo before they went to Shiro’s house. Keith insisted that he didn’t want Shiro alone- he didn’t want Shiro driving alone- when he was in this condition but said that he couldn’t leave Kosmo alone overnight. 

He waited until they got to Shiro’s- letting him focus on the road- to make sure that he was okay. He’d even stood close by Shiro’s side in the elevator, though that was mostly because he was wearing clothes that made it look like he belonged here so it wouldn’t seem like he was just Shiro’s charity work. He settled Shiro on the sofa when they got inside and got him some cold water before sitting beside him.  
“What happened there, Shiro?”

Shiro casted Keith a tired stare, feeling like he could simply sleep for ages. He was sure that was what he had to look like as well -- he had washed all the soot and sweaty ash from his face, which meant along went the makeup. Shiro knew how awful he looked but he knew there was nothing to do about it. He had refused to go to the hospital when they had asked him, afraid they’d ask about the faded bruises on his chest or the healing burns on his legs, and instead just chose to go home. Matt was safe, Keith was safe, and all of the civilians he had helped were safe -- one of them even had scored a new, expensive jacket from Takashi Shirogane’s closet. Shiro kept that all in mind as he tried to relax against the sofa, gratefully sipping on the glass of water Keith had gotten for him. 

“I just wanted to make sure everyone was safe,” he said softly. His voice was scratchy -- Shiro didn't like it. “There were maybe seven or eight people back there… they needed help. There was one person who I couldn’t save, though. I certainly didn't catch the person who could have done all of this…” 

He closed his eyes and offered a sigh, realizing he was saying too much. “What about you, Keith?” he asked, taking one last sip of his water before setting it down on the coffee table. Shiro leaned up a little, and looked up at Keith with a concerned sort of stare. “I know how fire… I know how that might be hard for you. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Please- it- it was years ago, Shiro. I was a kid. I’m fine with fire now. I mean… it wasn’t like I could have avoided it, anyway. Just trust me. I’m fine with it. I’ve been fine with it. I’ve gotten over it. But… but try not to get too involved in things like this again. If I’d lost you, too, I…” he trailed off, shrugging a little. “This isn’t about me. Come on, you need to get to bed. You did more than anyone else would have done in your situation. I’ll even stay with you when you go to sleep if you’d appreciate that. We can pick up Atlas and Black on our way there, too.”

Shiro nodded, feeling a pinch of guilt bite at his stomach. Of course he’d be getting involved with flames again if he was ever going to catch his arson murderer… but Keith couldn’t know that so Shiro simply had to bob his head in a silent promise — a lied promise. He started to stand up, rubbing at his tired eyes with one hand as Keith took the other, the touch ginger and delicate to keep from hurting Shiro’s bandaged wounds. 

“I think I’d like if you stayed,” Shiro said, flicking his gaze to the floor as they made their way up the stairs. Black and Atlas both trailed after him, Atlas following the sounds of Black’s footsteps. The kept close to Shiro, rather weary of the large, whining dog by Keith side. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to though… I don’t want to be a nuisance. If you want to go home I can drive you. Or you could ride your bike… but I’d rather drive you.”

God, Shiro hated having to be guided and looked after like that. It was more tolerable when Matt would help him… but Keith? Keith shouldn’t have been allowed to even see Shiro in such a state. Shiro suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything about wanting Keith to stay… he suddenly wished, in fact, that he said that he didn’t want Keith to stay. It was too to change his mind, though… Keith would pick up on Shiro’s true feelings and then insist to stay. 

“I’ll stay,” Keith said quickly, moving closer and starting to guide Shiro to his room. He let him inside and sent Kosmo to curl up on a rug beside the bed, Atlas and Black curling up with him. Last time he’d been over he’d bitten Atlas while they’d been playing and Shiro hadn’t been keen on letting Kosmo come back over- but now it was late and Kosmo was tired. He was more than harmless.

Keith, about to undress to get into bed, nervously remembered the suit he wore under the tux. He wished he’d had time to take it off or that he’d thought to take it off when they’d gotten to his house but it had just slipped his mind and now he ran the risk of being caught because of it.  
“Hey, Shiro? Have you got something I can wear to go to sleep? I could just sleep in my boxers but I don’t think that that would be comfortable for either of us.” He laughed a little, sliding off his jacket and hanging it up, his tie tucked away in the pocket.

Shiro, who’d been easing himself down on the side of his mattress, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, looked up, and promptly remembered it wasn’t really Matt he’d been with -- Keith probably wasn’t as comfortable with platonic intimacy. Blushing, he pulled his shirt closed, and nodded. “Matt has a drawer in that dresser over there,” he said, clearing his itchy throat a little. “You guys are about the same size. If you want to get dressed in the master bathroom, go right ahead.” 

Shiro kept his own suit stashed behind the wall of the linen closet -- he felt a prickle of anxiousness when he told Keith to go back there, but he knew Keith wouldn't ever find the keypad that unlocked the secret slot and he would never know the key despite it being so personal to him. Of course, Keith would never suspect Shiro using his birthday as a password -- that was just the way Keith was. Shiro had nothing to worry about, so he even pointed his finger in the direction of his master bathroom for good measure. 

“Sorry if it’s a mess. I left everything out when I did my makeup this morning.” 

“It’s alright,” Keith said, digging around and taking a pair of pants, disappearing into the bathroom. “I’m sure I can live.”

He tugged them off, looking at his hands and sighing softly. Looking down at his body, which was still skinny and covered in bruises from his fights and not having enough money to eat enough. He didn’t know what he was doing but by staying at Shiro’s place meant that he could eat. He would continue to stay here as much as possible until that same paycheck and those same benefits came through with the same fucking letter from his mom. The same tired “I miss you, I love you” and that would be just about it.

When he returned to the bedroom, he moved to Shiro’s room and slumped down in bed beside him, the suit stuffed into his bag- which had previously held everything he needed for Kosmo- and he settled down in bed beside Shiro.  
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he asked him, frowning a little as he ran his fingers through Shiro’s hair, flicking a few strands from his face.

Shiro, suddenly melting at even the slightest physical contact, nodded his head and unconsciously eased a little close. His cold bed was warm with Keith in it -- even with his earlier dignity, Shiro was suddenly grateful for his presence after the events of the night. A cold, lonely bed wouldn't treat him very well after his failure and his embarrassment; it would have likely gifted him with nightmares or restlessness… the very thought made Shiro shiver. He was tired enough as it was, a bad night wouldn't help him much at all. 

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, tipping his head down onto one of his plush pillows, the memory foam mattress hugging his aching, tired body as he stretched out on it beneath that heavy comforter. “Jus’ tired. And angry. And my hand fu-... my hand hurts.” Shiro lifted his hand up and studied it in the dark lighting of his room. He kept the closet light on for Keith -- Shiro remembered even after all those years of being friends with him that Keith wasn’t too fond of the dark. Shiro didn't mind it too much, but he didn't mind a nightlight either. 

“Burns have got to be the worst kind of injury there is,” he muttered dismally. Shiro felt Keith shift a bit next to him, and he cringed a little, understanding the topic was a little raw. “Sorry -- it’s just itchy. That cream the firefighters gave me is wearing off.”   
“I can get you some more. Don’t you have some cream somewhere?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Shiro as his brows furrowed with concern. He pulled his hand back a little. “We can reapply it and then you can go to sleep. That’s all there will be to it. Okay?” he moved back, getting to stand up and running his fingers through his hair. He was starting to get tired. He just wanted to relax. Shiro would be fine eventually.

He moved away, sighing a little and rubbing his eyes.  
“Would it be in the bathroom? You have that kit under the sink, is it in there?”

Shiro reached up and gently took ahold of Keith’s arm with his prosthetic, shaking his head a little. “No,” he said quickly, carefully tugging him back towards the bed. “No, it’s fine. I’m just being… it’s nothing. I’m fine. You don’t have to go.” When Keith didn't show any signs of believing him, Shiro gave a deep sigh and pushed up a little bit, still holding onto Keith’s arm. 

“Please, just lay back down,” he said, sounding exhausted. His eyes were round -- like a kicked dog, again and again with that lonesome, doe eyed stare. A real case of puppy-dog eyes. “We’d just have to unwrap it and then re-wrap it and it would be a whole thing… I’m tired, Keith. You’re tired too. Please just… can’t we just sleep? Who cares if my hand hurts a little -- it doesn’t matter.” 

Sighing a little, Keith nodded and slipped into bed beside Shiro.  
“If you complain all morning, I’m not going to have any pity,” Keith said as he lay back, eyes fluttering closed. He relaxed, though reluctant, and instinctively pressed a little closer to Shiro as if desperate for that warmth. He just wanted him. He just needed to be with him, as close to him as possible, as shameful as it was. As much as he hated to admit that he so desperately wanted to be with, to be around, Shiro. There was something about him that he just couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

There was something about Shiro that he had fallen for, hard, many years ago. And there was something about Shiro that stopped that crush from fading and instead only made it grow stronger.

And there was something about being this close to Shiro that made his cheeks feel hot and that made his thoughts swim.

Shiro let himself smile a bit. He curled up a little closer too, a little more straightforward in his want for cuddles. He reached his hand over Keith’s torso, and brought up his legs a bit so they tangled with Keith’s. Shiro knew he felt Keith stiffen a little when he laid his head down on Keith’s chest, but he also knew Keith relaxed instantly after he’d grown accustomed to it. Keith was never one for cuddling -- in fact, right then and there he laid rather awkwardly on his back in the bed while Shiro curled up beside him. He didn't push Shiro away, thought… he didn't squirm out from beneath him or ask him to get up or move. Shiro took it as a good sign -- they really didn't do that as much anymore. 

Shiro decided to vocalize that last point. “You haven’t slept in here in a while,” he sighed, voice slurred with drowsiness, his eyes already closed and his breathing already ironed out into long, peaceful sighs. “I forgot how bad you are at cuddling.” He gave a soft huff of a laugh to ensure Keith it had been a joke. “That’s one point for Matt.”   
“I’m not used to it,” Keith argued. “The only person I cuddle is Kosmo and he wriggles too much.” He moved a little closer despite his own reluctance, one arm settling on Shiro’s bicep in some attempt to return the affection. He was sure Shiro noticed but he was glad that there were no further comments made on how bad he was at cuddling.

A quiet sigh escaped him and he closed his eyes, holding Shiro a little closer, his grip on Shiro tightening a little more.  
“Night,” he murmured, though he didn’t feel at all tired and he knew it would be hours before he managed to doze off.

“G’night,” Shiro sighed. Unlike Keith, he’d been just about ready to slip into slumber -- already losing his grip on reality, feeling nothing but Keith’s safe hold against him as he seemed to melt into sleep. “Thanks for… stayin’...” 

And with that, Shiro was out. 

It was the best sleep he had gotten in a whole week.

~~~

It was around twelve in the afternoon when Shiro woke up. He usually never slept in that late -- he’d never let himself. He had alarms on his phone and on his digital clock. Hell, even his cats, to some extent, were rather dependent alarm clocks -- they would eat breakfast at seven AM and they’d simply scream in his ear if they didn't get it in time. But… for some reason none of that seemed to work. Or none of them had been set… or maybe…

They had all been turned off before Shiro could wake up. 

Shiro was all alone in bed when he had shot up from the messed sheets and tangled blankets. He looked around, slight panic twisting in his chest as he racked his brain for his schedule, knowing he was late for work but dreading the idea of being late for that press conference. Luckily, with the help of his phone, he found out that the press conference wasn’t until late that evening. Shiro gave a deep sigh and relaxed a little, tossing his phone aside (deliberately ignoring the many, many text messages of friends and colleges asking him if he’d been okay), and slumping down.

Missing work was acceptable, he supposed. He was sure news of his injuries had already spread around the city like wildfire -- though the simile made him cringe a bit to think about due to the events of the night prior. Neglecting to answer a few emails or failing to get one report in on the deadline was okay… he could recover from that with enough phone calls and pity cards, despite his hatred for the idea. Shiro figured out his plan as he sat there, rubbing his eyes and pretending he didn't see the pile of notifications on his phone’s home screen. His head hurt… and… and God, his hand hurt too. It was an itching kind of burn that left him grimacing. He guessed Keith was right about applying that cream…

Keith!

So he had been the culprit who had shut of the alarms and fed Shiro’s cats. Shiro pushed up from the bed, grabbing ahold of his phone and stuffing it into the pocket of the sweatpants he had slept in as he made his way out of his room. He called for Keith as he slipped through the door, earning no sort of answer until he had been close to the living room. There was the mumble of the television -- the blank, stoic voice of the newscaster. Shiro, who had been about to call for Keith again, paused to listen, pressing himself against the wall opposite of the living room doorway so Keith wouldn't notice him. 

“-makes two arson attacks, so the police are suspecting a pattern. Last night we captured real footage of the culprit due to the tech of the Shirogane building. This ‘Red Flame’ has been seen before, but not to such a degree. There is footage of this new masked villain robbing banks, and setting homes and buildings aflame. There is even a few seconds of footage from a security camera that gives us a glimpse of Red Flame and the city’s Black Paladin fighting. Police are perplexed.” 

“In other, more positive news, the damage of Shirogane Mechanics and Health is at a very lucky low. The blaze was contained into one room, and was put out quickly, officials say. Most civilians made it out alive, many of the hospitalized saying it was all thanks to the company's newfound CEO Takashi Shirogane, who was injured in the night’s events and hasn’t been heard from on the matter since. Witnesses say that Mr. Shirogane guided injured and shocked guests out to the exits, before trying to get into the room that had been set ablaze, likely trying to save the one and only fatality of the tragedy. Of course, he did not get there in time, and was guided away from the site before the professionals could even get the door open.” 

Shiro closed his eyes, and shook his head. He didn't want to hear anymore. “Keith?” he said, sounding oblivious to what had been on as he strolled his way into the room. Sure enough, Keith was there on the couch, the two cats curled up on one side of him, and Kosmo curled up on the other. “Did you let me sleep in? I was probably supposed to go in today...” Shiro gave a cursory glance to the television, catching the sight of a rather dashing photo of his displayed beside the reporters face. “Oh. They’re talking about me. Did they say anything good?” 

“Oh, just that you’re a hero. Nothing different to usual,” Keith said, getting off the sofa and starting to approach, Shiro. He reached out and took ahold of his hand. “Does it still hurt?” he asked, Kosmo’s paws scratching along the floor as he got up and began to trot around the couch, over to Shiro to sniff his legs, tail wagging. He barked up at him, howling softly for attention. Atlas and Black had been stirred at his loud noise and were coming over, too. Black was brushing up along Shiro’s calves, purring loudly to say good morning.

Keith’s concerned eyes fixed back on Shiro after a moment and he reached up, cupping his cheek.  
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly, his concern so painfully clear in his worried eyes. He might not feel guilt for the pain Shiro was in but he was still worried about him being in that pain. “I… don’t want you to be pushing yourself if you’re in pain. You know you’ll only end up hurting yourself more.”

Shiro’s face flushed a hot red at the contact, and nodded his head quickly, taking a slight step backwards. His heart had leapt a bit when Keith had looked at him with that furrowed brow and those rounded eyes. He made sure to ignore it right away.   
“I’m okay,” he said holding up his hands. Shiro almost stumbled, just barely tripping over Atlas curled around his ankles. Once he had regained his balance, Shiro fastened a gentle smile back onto his features, and shrugged his shoulders. “My hand kinda hurts, but it’s fine. I’ll have to ignore it anyways… I’m sure I have a million emails to answer. And phone calls. And texts…” His voice grew a little tired, and he slumped a bit. 

“You really shouldn’t have let me sleep in,” he mumbled, making his way towards the couch. He plopped down onto the cushion beside where Keith was sitting before, ignoring Kosmo and the cats as he patted his prosthetic hand towards his laptop.   
He pulled his computer into his lap, and he opened it up, studying the many notifications of his email before looking back down to his wrapped up palm. “I literally have a metal hand, and I went to grab the doorknob with the only one that could get burned.” Shiro gave a deep sigh, and slumped back against the couch. “I have a press conference tonight. And interviews. I can’t wait to be asked about that disaster — great first day as CEO, hm?”

“I’m sure that you won’t be blamed for it,” Keith said, smiling a little. “And it was a mistake. I’ve been getting your calls redirected to Matt so he can take the important information and I’ve responded to every text saying you’ll get back to them as soon as you can. Emails can wait. Come on, sit down. Take time to yourself.” He pulled Shiro to the sofa, pushing him down and sitting beside him. “Are you hungry? You should get something to eat.”

Kosmo hopped up onto the sofa after a moment, a purring Black joining him after a moment. Keith scooped up Atlas and set her on Shiro’s lap- where she happily sat down as if she knew that that would be the only thing keeping Shiro from getting up and doing his job.  
“You have to take time to recover. What do you want for breakfast and should I invite Matt over?”

Shiro gave a long sigh, and closed his laptop to keep Atlas from messing anything up. He placed it at his side, and leaned back , setting his hand down upon Atlas’s head and rubbing the space beside her ears with the pad of his thumb. “Well, it’s basically lunchtime already. I’ll order pizza-” Shiro stopped reaching for his phone when Keith laid a hand on his arm, giving him a look. “Keith, I’m perfectly capable of ordering us pizza. The fire didn't hurt my voice… well, I mean it kinda did but it’s fine now.” 

Nonetheless, Shiro relaxed and watched as Keith tugged out his own, crappy phone. Shiro let him order, telling him the numbers of one of his cards so that Keith didn't have to pay for anything himself. They got two large pies, some of it for Matt, who Shiro had just texted to come on over with his prosthetic hand only, and about three boxes of garlic knots -- Shiro’s favorite. Once Keith was done on the phone, Shiro laid his head back against the couch cushion and sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Since when are you the mom friend?” he asked, a bit grumbly as he spoke. “You stole my role.”   
“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself to death,” he said, sighing a little as he ran his fingers through Shiro’s hair. He held him close, his hands shaking a little as he brought him slightly closer. If this was all it took to get Shiro to take a break, he’d be committing arson during more of his meetings.

Okay, yeah, that wasn’t funny.

So Keith turned his eyes to Shiro again. “Come on,” he murmured. “What are we doing now? What should we do while we wait for the pizza? Do you want me to put on some cartoons and get you a hot chocolate?” he teased, twirling a couple of strands of Shiro’s hair around his fingers and smiling warmly at him.

Shiro gave a snort and shook his head, poking Keith in the arm with his elbow. “Oh, shut it,” he mumbled, blushing again. “You coddling me is embarrassing enough as it is. Is this what it feels like when I baby you? Actually… don’t answer that.” He gave a nervous laugh and turned back to the television. 

“The news is just fine,” he said, absently tipping his head onto Keith’s shoulder. It was still on -- still reporting everything that had happened last night. Shiro could see the cost of the damage move itself across the bottom of the screen, and he hissed through his teeth, knowing that would cut into budgets of some of his newer, younger projects. “I guess the damage could have been worse. Whoever started that fire is lucky I’m in charge, though. My father would have beaten the guy up himself, and then my mother would have killed him…” Shiro trailed off into silence, listening to the news for a few more moments.   
He gave a soft hum of contemplation. “The Red Flame?” he said, voice skeptical. “What’s with the city color coding every guy with a mask.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Hopefully the police take care of that asshole soon. He owes me a couple thousand dollars, and he really deserves a good punch in the face for my Goddamn hand.”

Shiro stayed oblivious. As though he hadn’t been obsessively tracking down You-Know-Who… or the Red Flame, he supposed, for months prior. 

“The Red Flame,” Keith echoed, laughing a little. “That is really tacky, isn’t it? Oh, look, red on his suit and he sets fires. We can’t use black, the main colour of his suit, because that’s the colour we assigned to the Black Paladin.” He closed his eyes, settling against Shiro and running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sure he’ll get what’s coming to him eventually,” Keith said to him, brushing Shiro’s hair from his face. 

He leant back, wanting to change the conversation but not knowing how he could do it. What was he meant to do? Just happily talk about how badly Shiro wanted to beat him up? Let Shiro discuss how horrible he was without knowing who he was actually talking to? It wasn’t like Keith took every chance he had to insult the Black Paladin. Then again, in all fairness, Shiro was doing it out of a genuine disliking. Keith would have just been doing it out of spite. 

To say that Keith had been relieved when he heard the doorbell ring would have been an understatement. He got up, starting to the door and telling Shiro to stay still (as if he would have gone anywhere with Atlas asleep on his lap) while he opened the door- revealing Matt stood beside the pizza delivery man. He took a step or so back and let Matt come in, taking the pizza as he did. With a thanks, Keith shut the door and moved to sit back beside Shiro- Matt taking up residence to the other side of Shiro.

The second he had gotten beside the previously sleepy, and comfortable Shiro, Matt wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him into the tightest hug. He squeezed Shiro so close, Shiro’s lungs leapt and he coughed -- stirring up the discomfort from the night before. Matt didn't seem to care, burying his face into Shiro’s slightly wheezing chest as Shiro tried to stifle his coughing fit and push him off. 

“You’re so stupid. You’re so stupid!” he had been saying, Shiro nodding and agreeing and asking him through coughs to let go. When Matt did, he looked up at Shiro, a goofy grin on his face while he rubbed Shiro’s back to try and ease the coughing fit a bit. “I would have come over sooner, but I didn't know if you wanted me to. I tried texting you but then I had to answer to your fuckin’ secretary over here.” Matt jutted the thumb of his free hand towards Keith. “So what? You slept in or something? Your eyes don’t look as dark as usual.” 

Shiro gave a soft laugh, the last few straggling coughs tumbling past his lips as he nodded his head. “Yeah, Keith let me sleep till twelve,” he said, closing his eyes and giving one last, loud clearing of his throat. Shiro fluttered his eyes open, and leaned a little closer to Matt, letting him finish that nice little back rub before leaning back into the couch cushions. “I have so many emails and texts and phone calls. This is a mess, really. I’m going to have a lot of fun these next few days making up for the hours I lost sleeping.”   
“Oh shut up,” Matt said, rolling his eyes. “You needed it. Stop worrying about work…” his eyes flicked to the television, and his features soured a bit. “Or the news.” Matt reached for the remote and flicked the television off, ignoring Shiro’s whine of disagreement. He tossed the remote down on the table, and scooped up one of the boxes of garlic knots. Matt shoved the box into Shiro’s chest. 

“Eat that whole thing. I know you want it.”   
Shiro looked at him, pouting a bit. “But my carbs,” he whined, voice all too like the puppy Keith always compared him to.   
Matt held up a finger. “Cheat day. You’re hurt. Eat everything you want to -- I won’t let you watch the news until you do.” 

Keith grinned a little, taking a box of pizza and leaning back in his chair, starting to eat. His head tipped onto Shiro’s shoulder absently. He let Shiro and Matt talk- they seemed closer than he and Shiro were. Which, yeah, was most likely his fault but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t like how close Shiro always got to him. He didn’t like that he couldn’t stop thinking of what Shiro would do to him if he found out.

Shit, he even had nightmares about it recently. The other night, alone at his house, he’d woken up with a start when he’d imagined Shiro seeing his identity revealed on the news- something about carelessness with his mask- and he woke up the second Shiro’s fist would have made contact with his face. And again, last night, he imagined Shiro coming from the room of a fire, skin charred and covered in burns, and lunging right for him. Taking off the mask. Beating the shit out of him anyway.

He was hoping the dreams weren’t realistic but honestly, it was hard to say how Shiro would react. He would either be so angry, so genuinely frustrated that this was what Keith had been doing to him so long that he may well resort to violence, or he’ll just send Keith out and never talk to him again. Both options scared him. Hell, both options terrified him and made him so much more anxious about getting caught but it wasn’t like he could just quit. Any day now they could find some life-changing evidence that proves him guilty and then what? He’d rather keep going and get caught than get caught anyway.

“So, Curtis asked you out last night?” Matt said, his voice honeyed as he reached for one of Shiro’s garlic knots despite his sternness from before. Shiro let him take one, averting his eyes and letting his face flush as Matt went on. “I mean, yeah a lot of things happened last night, but Curtis asking you out has got to be a good thing.” 

Shiro swallowed hard, and gave a reluctant nod. He didn’t ask how Matt knew — Matt had been on the comm when it had happened, and he didn’t want Matt to have to scramble for an excuse. “I guess it was okay,” he mumbled weakly, shrugging up his shoulder. “I said no, obviously… but that was right before the chaos, so I might get another chance.”  
Matt grinned at him. “And you’re gonna take it, right?”  
There was a moment's pause. Shiro offered a shrug — Matt groaned. 

“Listen,” Shiro said, cutting him off. “Curtis is a nice guy… and yeah I think he’d be good to me but… I can’t have a relationship right now. I have too much on my plate. I don’t want to drag him into this mess.”  
Matt gave him a funny look. “You seem fine dragging us into your mess,” he hummed, leaning forwards a bit and nodding towards Keith. 

Shiro rolled his eyes. “You guys are willingly dragged. I give you food,” he said, shaking his head. “I just became CEO of a company-”  
“-a company Curtis works for,” Matt chimed in.   
“A company that requires a lot of focus,” Shiro said, voice a little more stern. “Matt, you should know better than anyone how much I can’t do that to anyone right now.”   
There was a certain tone in Shiro’s voice that told Matt to drop it — if they weren’t around Keith, Matt probably wouldn’t have, but he knew what Shiro was talking about. Another bad “hero trait” he supposed, as he sighed and leaned back into the couch, holding up his hands to show Shiro he gave up. Saving the city from time to time didn’t mean that Shiro couldn’t have someone to love him…

Shiro couldn’t really agree, however. 

A boyfriend would be dangerous in his line of work. A boyfriend would be curious — a boyfriend would want to know about all the new bruises and burns. A boyfriend would definitely want to know about all of his disappearances in the dead of the night. A boyfriend could get hurt. A boyfriend could get involved. Shiro was already ruining Matt’s life enough — he couldn’t do that to someone else. 

He supposed that’s why he never told Keith. 

Keith just sighed a little and pushed up from his seat, going to the kitchen to get something to drink. He just wanted to get away from the two of them for once. He would tell Shiro that he knew about him- just to relieve some of the stress- but he didn’t want to take that risk. He didn’t want to risk losing Shiro, as unreasonable as that fear always was. He just couldn’t afford to lose him.

He got some water with ice, pushing himself onto the counter and just sitting there, sighing. Kosmo came trotting through after a moment, whining up at him and jumping up at him and licking his hand. Offering up a small, tired smile, Keith scratched behind his ear.  
“Hey, Kosmo,” he murmured as he leant down. “At least I can be honest with you.”

Shiro’s eyes had followed Keith out of the living room, and watched the doorway for a few moments before turning back to Matt -- who had been rambling on in Shiro’s peripheral about some kind of anime Shiro’s failing love life had inspired him of. He gave a low sigh, distracting Matt off of his tangent for a moment or so. Matt cocked his head, and trailed off, eyes settling on the empty spot where Keith had been sitting. 

“Oh, shit. Where’d he go?” Matt asked, looking around a bit. “I didn't even realize he left. He’s quiet.”   
Shiro shrugged. “I don’t know. He just got up and left,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “You think he’s okay?”

Matt gave a soft hum. “He’s probably fine,” he said, pawing the air a little bit. “He likes alone time, doesn’t he? Probably why he just up and left during your speech.”   
Shiro gave him a glance. “He said he had to go to the bathroom,” Shiro mumbled, elbowing him a little bit. 

“Mm, and is that what you believe?” Matt’s voice was quiet, hushed by both his hope to keep Keith from hearing, and from his own sarcastically bitter tone. 

There was a second of silence. Shiro gave a huff and turned back to his garlic knots. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbled, taking up a piece of the bread and taking a bite. Shiro waited until he was done chewing until he spoke again. “I have a press conference later tonight. Don’t make me stay home, alright?” 

Matt groaned. “So you almost get killed, and you just go off to work the next day like it’s no big deal?”  
“I did not almost get killed,” Shiro argued, making a face.   
There was a snicker from Matt, and he nudged Shiro with his shoulder. “Shut up. You still shouldn’t go in,” he said, voice just a little stern. 

Shiro just rolled his eyes, finding no need to respond. No one would be able to convince him to stay home -- not Matt, not Keith, not even Black and Atlas’s cute little faces. There were issues that needed to be addressed. Questions that needed his collected answers and positive outlook. Shiro was the Goddamn CEO… he couldn’t just disappear after a catastrophe. It wasn’t good for business and it wasn’t good for his image -- especially with it only being his first day on the job. 

With those thoughts turning in his head, Shiro set the box of garlic knots on the table, and reached for his laptop, gently shooing Atlas away so he could open it up and try to answer some of those emails. Matt didn't respond aside from his childish grumble, and his reach for the remote to flick on a movie or maybe some anime he was in the middle of watching. Shiro just hoped Keith would be as willing to let him work once he came back into the living room. 

Keith returned almost half an hour later, slumping back into his seat and letting Kosmo jump onto his lap, sitting happily on top of him despite not being the size of a lapdog at all. He didn’t say anything, not sure where he would start and just hoping that Shiro wouldn’t try to engage in a conversation with him about why he left. He was hoping Matt would be too lazy to ask, too. He just couldn’t be bothered to come up with an excuse for why he left so abruptly when he did it so often. Each time, a new excuse. Usually he went for the ones that meant people wouldn’t ask more questions out of pure pity. Last time Keith left while the news was on he used the ‘my dad died in an arson fire’ to excuse himself just because the news had been about the fires he had set.

It was a little manipulative, of course, but sometimes he just couldn’t force himself to come up with endless excuses and reasons or to lie his way out of everything when it could be solved with one simple slightly cruel lie.

It was also what ensured that Shiro wouldn’t suspect him for being the Red Flame- which he still thought was a tacky name.

If Shiro started to get suspicious, Keith could always do what he used to do and pretend that fires had a much stronger effect on him than they really did. With Shiro’s abysmal cooking skills, some small mistake at the stove could start a fire and Keith could force himself through a panic attack. He’d hate it, of course, but as long as it was effective in the end, who was he to complain?

Shiro smiled just a little when Keith had come back into the room, but he stayed silent to keep from drawing attention to himself or his typing fingers. At first, of course, he tried to answer some of the ninety or so emails by using both his hands, too dignified to let his injury stop him. Around the fifth email, however, the pains of his burns were so great it left Shiro seeing stars whenever he would pinch his eyes closed. Shiro then leaned back a little, aching hand brought back up to his chest, and let his prosthetic do the rest of the work. It was fine, and it was fast due to the lacks of cramping, but there were more typos that he had to go back and fix. His right hand was never his better one, and it certainly wasn’t perfect after he had lost it and replaced it with varying prosthetics… but it was all he had at the moment. 

Around halfway through his emails, Matt watching anime and Keith very subtly watching Shiro work, Shiro met a painfully familiar name. It seemed as though Curtis had tried to reach him in any way possible -- he had texted and called first, but Keith had taken care of those, so Shiro supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised upon seeing a very worried email from Curtis’s address. Shiro read through it more carefully than the others, and he had paused before typing out an answer. He assured Curtis that he was okay in an informal, friendly sort of way, and expressed that he was so sorry for running off on him like that. He told Curtis that he’d make it up to him with dinner -- one on one. No Keith. It was a hesitant claim, but Shiro went for it anyways, dimming the brightness of his laptop to keep Matt or Keith from reading over his shoulder. 

“I might get up and go take a shower or something. To get ready for tonight,” Shiro sighed once he had finished off the rest of the emails, closing his laptop. “You guys can stay while I’m gone. Just don’t trash the place or anything.” 

“Tonight?” Keith asked. “You aren’t going to work, Shiro. You have to take at least one day off in your life. You think you can handle being asked so many questions right now? Not just about being CEO or having a huge company but about the fire, too.” He looked over at him, brows furrowing, concern clear on his features. “You’re burning the candle at both ends. Take a fucking break.”

Honestly, it would take chloroform to get Shiro to rest for more than an hour at a time. Keith didn’t have any to hand, but if he did Shiro would be in bed, curled up, and sleeping off his stress. Whether he wanted to be or not.  
“Matt, come on, tell Shiro that he needs to stay in bed. Tell him he doesn’t have a choice.”

Matt gave a weak sort of shrug. “I totally agree with you there Keith… but once Shiro has his mind on going out, there isn’t much we can do,” he said, sighing a little. He nudged Shiro with his arm. “It’s a little too late to bar your windows, right Shiro?” 

Shiro had been watching Keith, a mixture of feelings arising in his system at Keith’s concern. There was the bitterness, of course, that came from Shiro’s hatred of being so pitied… but there was something else. Something warm, like a weak fire set off somewhere in the base of his gut -- chasing away that strange ache Shiro had come to associate Keith with. Shiro furrowed his brow and studied him for a second or so, turning his gaze to the floor when it started to become too strange. He gave a stout shake of his head and started to stand up.

“Right,” he mumbled, pushing from the couch into a wobbly stand. Atlas darted to his ankles, Black curled up in a closet somewhere due to Matt’s presence. “But no, I have to go. It’s my job to make sure everyone’s all right and informed on what happened. There will be prepared answers and everything… I’ll be fine.” Shiro turned to look at Keith, offering a twitch of a tired smile. “Thanks for… being concerned though.”

Keith watched him for a few moments as if he were just trying to see through Shiro’s potential lies. He settled back after a moment with a sigh.  
“Yeah,” he murmured. “You should go get ready if you’re that determined.”

He didn’t feel like continuing the conversation much more. Not with Shiro, anyway, so he decided to focus his attention on Matt.  
“What are you watching? Another anime?” he asked, eyes flitting to the screen for just a matter of moments. Like he cared. He just wanted to seem more engaged so Matt didn’t suddenly decide that he was rude or antisocial. Being deemed the emo basket case cockblock was enough for him already- and those were just the names he knew about.

Matt, who had watched Shiro guiltily slink away for the stairs, shrugged his shoulders a bit and turned back to the television, reaching for the remote so he could turn it up. “Yeah,” he said, nodding towards the screen. “Crunchyroll started streaming one of my old favorites again. I like watching it on Shiro’s TV because it’s so big and high def.” 

He looked around, back and forth as if someone might have been there to hear him, and then gave his gaze to Keith, presenting and annoyed sort of stare. “Shiro just doesn’t listen to anybody, huh?” he said, sighing. “Sometimes I think you just have to tell him to do the opposite of what you want him to do. ‘Hey Shiro, go into the fire.’ ‘Hey Shiro, don’t ask Curtis out.’ ‘Hey Shiro, maybe you shouldn’t take a break.’” Matt gave a low laugh. “It’s like opposite day with him all the time.”   
“Only sometimes. Reverse psychology works wonderfully with Shiro sometimes but other times you try to get him to do something by telling him not to and he refuses. He just flat out agrees. He always seems to know what’s best for himself and it’s frustrating.” He leant back, slumping back into his seat. Kosmo, suddenly detecting that Keith was nearly lying down, leapt onto the couch and sat on his chest, leaning over to start kissing Matt, licking along his cheek and his nose and his ears.

Keith coughed a little at the sudden weight on his chest but didn’t argue, starting to pet Kosmo and running his fingers through his fur.  
“So what do you want to do while he’s out?”

Matt, who was giggling under Kosmo’s kisses and attention, pushed the dogs head away. “Arg! Kos’! Gross dog slobber!” he laughed, wiping a hand down the side of his face and then rubbing off the excess saliva on the couch cushion. Still smiling that goofy smile as he adjusted his glasses, Matt turned to face Keith and rose his shoulders. “I could take you out to eat? We could get high and then drive on over to Taco Bell. Because of the fire everyone who worked at Shiro’s building got paid early this week -- and with a bonus too! I can buy like… so many tacos.” 

He slumped back, rubbing on Kosmo’s neck and chest and mumbling under his breath that Kos had been such a good boy. “Maybe I’ll get high after we get tacos,” he said, making a kissy face at Kosmo while he spoke. “Shiro gets all wigged out when I try to drive high. But he can drive around on negative four hours of sleep and four shots of espresso pumping through his veins. Like that’s any different.”  
“We can smoke whenever,” Keith said with a shrug, grinning a little. “But taco bell sounds perfect after today. The second he’s gone, we can go and get as many fucking tacos as you want.” He grinned a little wider, leaning back, Kosmo settling on his chest. Keith ran his fingers through Kosmo’s fur.

He might have hated that Shiro was going out to work but there was an upside. He would get tacos with Matt and then tell Shiro he hadn’t eaten dinner so that he could get more to eat. That was why it was always better than it was at his house. Actual food, actual money, and here people cared about him. Even if they did choose to talk shit about him behind his back, at least it was reassuring to know that he had someone to look after him. 

He didn’t know how long that would last if Shiro started dating Curtis, though. He didn’t want to start being seen as a burden.

Shiro returned about an hour later. He was showered and combed -- his tired features fixed and hidden with the help of his makeup. He was dressed in a sleek white suit with a black undershirt, mixing up his style a bit for the press conference. Shiro’s wound had been redressed, the burns coated in ointment and cream to keep them from itching too much, and then wrapped up in pearly white medical tape. If was almost as if he didn't sleep half the day away -- he looked as dashing and as healthy as ever, a bright green apple in his hand. Shiro took a bite out of it as he strolled up to the sofa, trying to wash away the garlic a bit more after brushing his teeth. Atlas was at his feet, like always, and Shiro had let Back into his room -- but not after hugging her to his chest for a moment or so and apologizing for the company. 

“How do I look?” he asked once he had swallowed his mouthful of apple. Shiro gestured himself. “Not too shabby, hm?”  
“You look like you need another nap and to get into bed,” Keith muttered, though he was only trying to sway Shiro from going to the meeting.  
Matt shook his head, rolling his eyes a little. “You look like a movie star,” he said, telling the truth. “You really should be in your pajamas on the couch with us right now. What took you so long?”

Shiro ignored the first comment, taking a bite from his apple as he prepared his answer. “Had to cover up the bags and the acne, of course. The soot made me break out,” he said, smiling a little. “Also I answered all my texts. Everyone either super worried about me or super worried about their paychecks -- but I made sure everyone there got paid early and with a bonus to apologize for what had happened.”  
“Mm, yeah I got the email,” Matt said, smirking. “Thanks for that.”  
Grinning , Shiro pointed at him. “Just don’t spend it on weed,” he said, raising an eyebrow. When the comment earned a laugh, he smiled a little broader, and straightened out his suit jacket. “I’m gonna head out early. I’ve got a few hours until the conference, and then another few before the interview. I want to stop by the office and check up on everyone first… but I could also swing by the store. You guys need anything?”

“Not me,” Keith said, slumping back and continuing to pet Kosmo, who was quite happily suffocating Keith by placing all of his weight on his chest. “I think we’ll do fine. If we need anything, Matt did just get paid so it won’t be an issue. We can just go out together.” His eyes fixed on Matt. “Right?”  
“Right,” Matt affirmed, nodding his head and stifling a snort. “Go to the office and make googly eyes at Curtis for a while — we’ll be fine.” 

Either way, Shiro needed to get going and Matt and Keith would be leaving to go to taco bell so they could make any detours themselves. Matt already basically lived on Shiro’s money so it wouldn’t hurt him to use his own for once. Not that Keith could complain, though. He didn’t have any money to spend so nobody was leeching off of him. Nobody but Kosmo.

Shiro gave a frown at the joke about Curtis, but he shrugged his shoulders, and started towards the door. “Alright, you guys know the rules,” he said, reaching for the doorknob. “Text me if you need anything, okay? Don’t hesitate to ask — oh and Matt, if you smoke, open a window. It’s bad for the cats.” 

With that, Shiro left, leaving Matt and Keith alone.


	6. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Emma- the co-writer- for making villain!Keith and hero!Shiro playlists!!  
> Keith: https://open.spotify.com/user/johnica_rocks/playlist/31SnIVIcxStTeky41MUqGU?si=btaxfAS1Q-as8vM2u5A5nQ  
> Shiro: https://open.spotify.com/user/johnica_rocks/playlist/39B54mpPZhzvhcQSkrhfS5?si=5TZYrVEXQxG72rneiBZfLw

When Shiro had gotten home that night at around one in the morning, both Keith and Matt had been asleep on his couch. He was outside his door, unlocking it the moment he noticed the heavy snores from Matt and Kosmo, so he made a point to very quietly slip into his apartment. The press conference had been... tiring. As was the interview right after, all of the varying questions on his health and his protection and the company's fire and the Red Flame bleeding all the way into midnight as the hungry reporters got their fill of details and assurances. Shiro barely had any questions that touched upon his becoming CEO -- it seemed as though the Red Flame had stolen his spotlight.

Which would have been okay any other day -- Shiro didn't like talking about himself too much.

The only problem had been that he got all that attention from killing a man.

Shiro slipped his shoes off by the door and padded his way past the couch, tiptoeing towards the television to shut it off from whatever anime Matt had left running. Matt had been lying belly up on one side of the couch, sprawled out, one of his arms hanging onto the floor, and the other draped over Atlas, who slept soundly on his chest. Keith was curled up in the other corner besides the giant Kosmo, who had lifted his head up to watch Shiro, thumping his tail a few times when Shiro gave him a friendly wave across the dark room. Both appeared to be sleeping. Shiro made his very cautious way over to Keith, pulling the blanket he always had draped over his backrest down and very gently laying it down over Keith's huddled up form. He patted Kosmo's head, and then reached a hand over to give Matt's leg a pat in a silent apology for not giving him the blanket.

Shiro left to his room, dressed down to sweatpants and a muscle-tee, wiped off his makeup, and then grabbed his laptop. He gave Black a nice scratching behind the ear, told her he'd come back to snuggle later, and then left for the living room again. He crept his way to the sofa, and settled down nice and easy between the sprawled Matt and the curled up Keith, making sure to turn his laptop brightness all the way down once he had opened it. Atlas, giving off a quiet chirp, rose off of Matt's chest, slinker her way under his arm, and carefully made her way to Shiro's side, settling beside his leg. Shiro pet her a bit before returning to his laptop.

"Alright, Red Flame," Shiro whispered as he pulled up Matt's screen shots. "Where are you gonna be next?"

"Shiro?" Keith's voice came from the sofa, his weight shifting as he pushed himself to sit up. "What... what are you doing? You're back so late. You only said you'd be a few hours," he mumbled, yawning and wiping his eyes as his attention flickered from Shiro to his laptop.

He decided that, for Shiro's sake, he wouldn't mention what he'd heard. But when he'd heard how Shiro muttered about him he did feel a little nauseous. Someday Shiro would find out and then what would happen? Keith could imagine being at Shiro's and suddenly being kicked out. Being insulted, shamed, pushed away for his involvement and his job. But today wasn't that day and Shiro was just researching. And Keith just so happened to be unable to sleep. Like every night.

It wasn't really his fault. He wasn't sure what it was- some part of him asked if it was insomnia, another insisted it was just restlessness- but Keith was rarely able to fall asleep and when he did sleep he was hardly able to get back up again in the morning. Lethargy just claimed him so easily and he never knew how to fight it off. If it weren't for Kosmo, and if it weren't for Shiro, he was sure that he wouldn't ever get out of bed. Hell, he'd probably starve to death just because his body didn't have the energy to move when his mind commanded it.

Sometimes it was tempting to do it anyway.

"You can't be working again. You need to take a break."

Shiro's eyes widened a little, and he closed his laptop fast, plunging them in the shadows of the room without the glare of his monitor. He gave a soft laugh. "I didn't know you were up," he admitted, truthful. His voice was hushed, quieted for the snoring Matt's sake. Shiro shook his head and flicked his eyes back to his closed laptop, everything tugging at him to keep researching -- to keep watching and surveying.

He knew he couldn't fail again. He wouldn't let another person die. Every second wasted -- every second not spent finding that murderer was another potential victim Shiro might let down again.

But Keith...

"I took a break this morning. But..." he trailed off, sighing a little. "But for your sake I guess I could... stop. Just for tonight." Shiro took his laptop from his legs and set it down on the table, before turning back to Keith. "Is there any room for me, or should I just go upstairs with Black?"

"You need to sleep," Keith mumbled, taking ahold of Shiro's arm and pulling him close, pulling him to lie down. "There's room. You know that you'll just wake up underneath Matt again regardless of where you sleep." He closed his eyes, letting out a cute little sigh and hugging his knees to his chest. He always slept like this. Or lay down and tried to sleep like that, anyway. It felt safer to be in a little ball.

Kosmo seemed to get the hint that there wasn't room for four of them and jumped onto the floor, curling up around Atlas on the rug by the unlit fireplace, low rumbling purrs starting to escape the large kitten as she lay there, now surrounded by an extra layer of warmth.

"See?" Keith murmured, his voice groggy and eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "There's room."

Shiro gave a soft hum of content, and nodded his head, shifting a bit so he laid in between Keith and the backrest, pulling up his legs to curl up around Keith in a sort of spooning gesture. He didn't slip beneath the little throw blanket he had given Keith before, not wanting to disturb him too much. Shiro gave a low sigh as he relaxed into the soft cushion, loving the warmth of Keith so close to him. The rise and fall of Keith's soft, comfortable breathing. Shiro couldn't help but curl a little closer, laying one of his arms over Keith's body and holding him a bit... he hoped Keith wouldn't mind. Shiro just liked the feeling of hugging things to his own body while he slept -- the cats and Matt all certainly knew that for a fact.

He breathed in deep, smelling the scents of Keith's shirt. The basic scents of Keith, really. A soft, comfortable scent of laundry detergent. Keith's soap brand -- the brand Shiro had bought for him just recently for acne. The usual musk of dog from Kosmo that clung to Keith the same way the scent of cats just barely clung to Shiro beneath all of the product and perfume. Shiro smiled, finding that they all lulled him into a comfortable sort of peace...

Until he smelled something else.

It was very faint but it was there. The rich aroma of smoke. Ash. Fire. Shiro's eyes fluttered open, and his brow furrowed. What he smelled right then and there wasn't something that Keith could have just gotten -- it was a deep, faint sort of scent, embedded into him. Into his skin and his hair like some aromatic stain. Like he'd been exposed to it too much...

To fire?

"You smell like ash," Shiro said softly, voice a bit concerned as he started to lean up. "Like smoke. Did... did something happen?"

Keith tensed ever so slightly at the questioning but forced himself to relax, letting out a soft and tired laugh.  
"What?" he asked. "No, nothing happened, I just... Matt and I were smoking earlier, before he ate six tacos and a packet of chips and passed out. It's probably from that. Don't worry." He moved a little closer to Shiro, eyes closing as he relaxed against Shiro. "Trust me," he mumbled. "If anything did happen, I'd tell you. I have no reason to lie to you."

And god, did he hope that that lie sounded convincing. He desperately wanted Shiro to believe him. He didn't care about how much it hurt to lie to him- he just didn't want to be at risk of being caught or of Shiro being suspicious so soon. Not even if all of his recent behaviour had been getting increasingly suspicious.

Shiro blinked a little, settling back down but not really relaxing in the slightest. "Oh... of course," he said, swallowing hard. "I... sorry. Sorry. I was just worried, that's all." He eased himself back down into his place on the sofa, trying to force the tension from his system. For some reason, all of a sudden the only thing he could smell off of Keith was the smoke. "Just... don't get into the habit, okay? I love Matt and all, but I can't say he's a good influence."

Keith snorted, the laughter somehow making Shiro a bit more comfortable than before. He relaxed his body and fluttered his eyes closed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He tried to focus on Keith's breaths.

I have no reason to lie to you.

What an odd thing to say. It made Shiro a little nervous. Especially because Shiro knew what weed smelled like.

And it wasn't that.

But Keith, content that Shiro had believed him, curled up and lay back again as his eyes closed.  
"No promises," Keith murmured, though his answer was a little delayed with tiredness. "Get some sleep. You need it," he then insisted again as he relaxed, slumping against Shiro a little. He might not have done anything but still, somehow, he was exhausted beyond belief. Drained of all energy to even more away from Shiro's hold so he just melted into it. He couldn't imagine how Shiro managed to do so much every single day when he was around so many idiots. Keith couldn't handle being around Matt for more than four hours before he got sick of idiots.

A soft sigh glided past his lips and he nestled into Shiro's neck, moving closer as if he craved the contact more than he did. And even though he usually wouldn't have been able to fall asleep for hours yet, now that he was with Shiro he was asleep within a matter of minutes.

Left to dream of fire licking away at the night sky and the unusually comforting feeling of a lit match in his hand.

~~~

Shiro's alarm woke them all up, the shrill tones causing each of them to start, and then drew twin groans from Matt and Keith as Shiro scrambled to shut it off.

"Sorry, sorry," he'd been saying, squirming his way out of his spot between Keith and the couch, and patting for his pocket. He pulled his blaring phone from his pocket, and clicked off the five A.M alarm, slumping back into the sofa with a sigh once it had been silenced. The room was still dark — the sun was only just beginning to wake up, a soft blue cutting at the very bottom edges of Shiro's blinds and windows. Shiro's eyes burned, body feeling weary and heavy. He wanted nothing more than to sink back down beside Keith and sleep off the feeling... but instead he dragged himself from the couch, wobbling on his feet when he stood up.

Matt gave a yawn, another groan, and turned over, shaking his head a little. "When di' ya get back las' night?" he slurred, words soft and garbled with sleep.

Shiro, stretching, gave his own almost intelligible mumble. "Around one," he sighed, rubbing his eyes once he had stretched out his shoulders. "About four hours of sleep. That's not too bad."

"For you, maybe," Matt grumbled bitterly from the cushion. "But not for me. Shut up so I can sleep."

Keith, who always found it difficult to get back to sleep once he'd been woken up, pushed himself to sit up.

"You should sleep more," he murmured to him despite how he was getting up, too. Kosmo jumped up from the rug by the fire- waking Atlas- at the indication that he could be fed and came trotting over. "Are you really doing a full day again?" Shiro offered only a nod, too tired to state his case..

Keith began toward the kitchen door now, whistling a little and drawing Kosmo closer, his nails scritching along the wooden floor. He ran ahead, starting to sniff at and nudge his bowl as if it would have been refilled before Keith even got there.  
"What's for breakfast?" Keith asked Shiro, getting out the different bags of pet food for the three animals- as Black came through a few moments later and brushed up against his calves. By now, Atlas had begun to meow loudly, screaming to be fed as if she were starved.

Shiro, who had drowsily followed Keith into the kitchen, gave a thoughtful hum as he pulled open the refrigerator, wincing at the white light that spilled from the open door and out onto the dark kitchen floor. "Well, I have fruit," he said quietly, yawning into his fist before reaching into the fridge for a carton of strawberries and some whipped cream. He set it down on the counter next to the banana bowl planning on having each for a fast and relatively clean breakfast. "There's chocolate chip pancakes in the freezer. I can make them for you guys -- they're microwavable though, so don't worry. I can't burn them."

He moved towards the cabinets, slipping out a plate for his fruit. "Thanks for feeding the babies," he sighed, smiling at Black and Atlas as they ate. Shiro grabbed a knife from his knife block, and made his way back over to the strawberries, popping open the plastic container. "Is there anything specific you want to eat? I might have it and if I don't I wouldn't mind running to the store. I go in at seven today."

"Alright," Keith said, smiling a little up at Shiro. "Pancakes sound good. I'm sure Matt will be happy to get anything as long as he doesn't have to cook it himself and I'm not too fussed about dinner. I think my benefits came through so I might be heading home, anyway. I can't stay here much longer than I already have. I really don't want to take up too much room."

 

He pushed himself away from the counter, stepping around Kosmo and approaching the freezer to begin digging out the pancakes. He might as well save Shiro a job and let him get on with eating his breakfast. Shiro wasn't going to be staying around too much longer anyway and the less time he spent doing things like these, the more time he could spend relaxing or talking to Keith.

 

They could leave Matt to sleep a little longer, anyway. If he was undisturbed, he'd be comatose for the next twelve hours. Keith was tempted to leave him there to go complete another job- but not today. It could wait.

Shiro offered him a soft smile, cocking his brow as he looked up at Keith from the fruit. "You're not 'taking up' room here, Keith," he assured, as he plucked out a thicker strawberry from the container. It took him a few times to get his hang steady enough to allow his prosthetic to start chopping it up -- his palm still itched and ached, but Shiro pushed through it, knowing he wouldn't be able to baby the wound for forever. "Hell, and if you are, this place needs someone taking up space. That's why Matt's always here. It gets... quiet when I'm all alone."

He began slicing up the strawberry, moving onto the next one and then the next one, discarding the leafy stems into the close by trash bin. "Your bike is still here, right? From when you drove here a few mornings ago?" Shiro asked, reaching for the bunch of bananas once he was done with the strawberries. "If you want to leave it here for a bit I'm okay with driving you home. I wouldn't want you getting into another fight over it... how's your hand by the way? I noticed you took the splint off?"

Keith shrugged a little.  
"It doesn't hurt too badly," he said, though now that Shiro had brought it up he'd begun to notice the ache in his hand. The little thrumming of pain. He hadn't realised how badly his hand had been aching, too caught up with Shiro and the recent ordeals to care about much else.

He sighed, wiping at his eyes a little.

"I'll drive back myself, though," he said definitely, not willing to leave behind something that was so important to him. "I'll leave when you've gone to work. Besides, I'm meeting someone. He's going to talk to me about buying something." Keith wasn't sure if he had much to do that wasn't selling gold or stolen possessions to Lance to earn enough money to start making his own living. He wanted to start tidying up his house to make it a little more habitable and now that he finally was getting enough spare money to do that, he could fix the leaky spots on the ceiling or the broken tiles on the kitchen floor. He could get a new, proper lock for his door or fix the broken windows. He might even be able to get blinds.

He could have a proper house soon. He just needed to do a few more jobs to get the money for it.

Shiro blinked, leaning up straight. He furrowed his brow a little and set down the knife beside his plate of chopped up fruit, turning to look at Keith over his shoulder. "You know how suspicious that sounds, right?" he said, giving a nervous sort of laugh. "It's not drugs, is it? I mean, I'm fine with Matt smoking weed, and you sometimes smoking weed, but getting involved with drug deals is kinda... dangerous."

Keith laughed a little.

"God, Shiro, who do you think I am? No. God, no. It's just some old bits and pieces from my house that I was hoarding. Some old motorcycle pieces I never threw out that could be fixed and resold. Just little things. I'm dumb enough to get into fights over my bike but I'm not dumb enough to start selling drugs and risk getting killed for it. Just trust me. I know what I'm doing." He walked over to Shiro, putting the pancakes down in front of him. "You can sort out the pancakes. I'm going to do something else. I'll figure out what eventually."

Shiro nodded, turning back to his fruit and whipped cream to hide his soft frown. He hoped he didn't offend Keith in any way... he knew what he said or assumed could have been a bit rude. He couldn't quite help it, however...

Especially after the blatant lie he had told the night before.

"Right, of course. I'm sorry for assuming anything," he sighed, popping open the whipped cream can and spraying some on his plate. Shiro knew it was bad for him and his diet, but he couldn't help it -- he had a sweet tooth he couldn't quite deny. Shiro wiped the knife down with a napkin, and slipped it back into the block. "It's just this city is getting to me, I guess. It's drugs and robbery and arson around every corner nowadays... I just really don't want you getting caught up in any of that mess. Just be careful when you go, okay? Maybe shoot me a text when it's over? After that mess at the company my nerves are kinda on edge, you know?"

Keith looked up at him, eyes rolling at the way Shiro cared about every little thing.

"Shiro, if I start texting you after everything I do then you'll start to worry when I don't. I'm not going to text you because I know the guy who's buying and he's not a threat and not a druggie. I just gotta meet with him, hand a few things over, and it'll be sorted. You're not my fucking dad, okay? You're sure as hell not a replacement for him, anyway, so just lay off. I can handle myself. I've been alone in the same shitty area since I was seven so I know how to look after myself."

He turned his back on Shiro, heading back through to the living room just to get away from him for a bit, slumping down in the corner of the sofa. Shiro would make the pancakes before he came through so Keith had a few minutes before he'd get pissed off and have to do something else. He wasn't going to be babied. He wasn't going to let Shiro treat him like a responsibility. He wouldn't be this fussy over Matt so what made Shiro care so much about him?

Shiro cringed as he watched Keith walk off, ducking his head a little as he turned back to the counter. Sighing a little, Shiro plucked up the pancakes and started to pile them onto another plate to be microwaved. It wasn't his fault he was so... protective? Was that the right word? Shiro didn't know. He just knew that Keith didn't know how bad it was out there — he didn't know everything Shiro did. The crime groups and the gangs and the underground society of murders and thieves. He couldn't lose Keith to that side of his life. He couldn't lose anyone to that side of life. The idea just made him... paranoid.

By the time the microwave beeped and the pancakes were ready, Shiro figured Keith must have calmed down a little. He hoped, anyways. That comment about Keith's father set him on edge — it was rare Keith would bring up anything like that. Not to mention him comparing Shiro to some sort of a father figure stung a bit... that wasn't at all what Shiro had intended. He wasn't even that old, was he? Shiro closed his eyes and shook his head a little, knowing that wasn't really the point he should have been focused on. He took the plate from the microwave with his prosthetic hand, and grabbed the syrup and some forks with his other before hesitantly making his way back into the living room.

He set the plate down wordlessly, assuming Keith didn't want to talk, and reached for his laptop. Shiro plopped down on the floor beside the coffee table, letting Atlas, who had finished eating and followed after him, curl up at his side. Shiro opened up his computer, closed the tab that had been about the Red Flame, and pulled up his emails.

"Must have been a good press conference," he murmured to himself, frowning at the twenty or so new notifications, most of which being a congratulations for clearing everything up so nicely. Shiro began to skim through them, typing out short and almost computer generated answers, each one identical to the last. He checked the time, and closed his laptop. "Make sure you wake up Matt before you leave, Keith. He doesn't need to be sleeping on the couch all day."

 

"I'll wake him up now if it's more convenient," Keith said through a mouthful of pancakes without looking back at Shiro, his eyes flickering to where Matt lay, still asleep. He called Kosmo through, the dog running in excitedly and leaping onto the couch- landing on top of Matt. Kosmo then- realising he'd landed on someone- jumped back off of the couch and then on top of Keith, instead, barking at him. Keith, despite having a heavy dog on his chest, cooed at Kosmo and whistled at him, scratching under his jaw and behind his ears.

 

"Morning, Matt," he said over Kosmo's shoulder, feeling the weight of the couch shift as he woke up and started to sit up. "You've got pancakes waiting to be cooked in the kitchen."

Matt gave out a long, discontented groan, pushing up from the couch before placing one hand against his stomach and the other on his face, rubbing at his eyes. "What the fuck," he grumbled, rubbing his hand against his torso. "That hurt. Ugh... I hate big dogs."

"No, don't say that," Keith said despite the grin on his lips, turning Kosmo's face to look at Matt. "Come on, he's sorry. Look him in the eyes and tell me that he isn't sorry."

He fluttered open his groggy eyes, gave a soft sniff, reaching the hand that had been rubbing his face back to scratch his head. "He isn't sorry." Matt gave a snort and shook his head, before turning his sleepy gaze to Shiro.

"Mornin' Shiro. For the second time around," he said, as warm as he could with his early morning bitterness. "How'd you sleep, big guy?"

Shiro gave a soft shrug. "Like always," he said, offering a soft, tired smile. "I'm going into work in about an hour -- just wanted to make sure you're not sleeping away another day of your life."

Matt gave another snorting sort of laugh. "I'm not 'sleeping away' my life. I'm powering up for my special attack," he declared, holding up a finger.

"Alright, Naruto, I believe you," Shiro snickered, rolling his eyes.

Matt scoffed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Shut up," he laughed, pushing up from the sofa and up onto his feet. "Anyways, I might go into the office with you. I haven't been in a few days, people might assume I'm sleeping with the CEO to get out of going to work."

Shiro blushed a little, and his eyes widened. "Wait, are people saying that?" he asked, voice a little too nervous for the joking atmosphere from before.

"Calm down, sweetheart, our secret's safe," he hummed sarcastically, moving over to Shiro and patting his head. "But really, don't worry. I was kidding -- no one thinks that. I'm, like, the straightest guy in the company. Right Keith?" He flicked his head up to look at Keith. "Apparently the gays have that raydar that tells them who is straight and who isn't. Give me your input -- Shiro's gaydar is broken."

"That's not my job," Keith said as he leant back in his seat, Kosmo curled up on top of him and letting out a little huff of air. "But... I don't know whether or not I'd call you straight. Not that people would dare to rumour that Shiro was sleeping with anyone. Shiro's such an obvious virgin he can't even bump into someone without getting a boner." He closed his eyes, continuing to coax his fingers through Kosmo's fur as if his statement was hardly important. As if he hadn't entirely called out Shiro and that it wasn't going to be humiliating.

Shiro gave what seemed to be a squeak of surprise before clapping both hands over his mouth, face firing up a hot red as Matt burst into heavy bouts of laughter beside him. Shiro elbowed Matt's leg, hands still covering his blushing face as he glared at the relaxed Keith on the couch.

"Keith-!" he started, voice pitched with a humiliated sort of tone.

Still giggling, Matt cut him off, patting Shiro on the back while his other hand theatrically wiped a tear from his eye. "Don't worry, Shiro," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It was just a joke. We- pfft, haha! We both know you're not actually a virgin. But that was fucking gold, Keith. Who knew you had a sense of humor."

Face still flushed that vibrant red, Shiro lowered his hands and looked down at the floor, shaking his head a little. "That was entirely uncalled for," he grumbled, inspiring another laugh from Matt and a soft laugh from Keith. Despite his embarrassment, Shiro found he'd been a bit relieved to hear Keith joking, hoping that meant he let the earlier snappy outburst go. The feeling caused him to smile just gently, as if he'd been laughing along with the degrading joke too. "I don't actually do... that, though, right?"

Matt gave Shiro another pat on the shoulder. "Eh, I'll let you figure that out when you see Curtis today," he hummed, winking at him.

 

Keith laughed a little, pushing himself up a little and turning his attention to Matt.  
"What's the plan for today?" he asked. "I gotta head home at around eleven to meet someone but after that I'm free if you want to get high again or get more tacos," he said, Kosmo letting out a tired whine when Keith moved but somehow managing to stay against his chest in the most inconvenient place. Keith continued to pet him and scratch behind his ear, peppering Kosmo's forehead and muzzle with kisses, cooing at him. "Or are you going to go to work, too?"

It was pretty boring to be friends with the two of them when they both had jobs and always had stuff to do. Keith had so much free time because he'd been fired from or ditched every other job he'd had. The only other person with as much free time as him was Lance and that was because he earned his money through whatever the hell he did online and selling whatever he bought from Keith.

"I should probably go to work," Matt said, taking his hand from Shiro's shoulder and stretching out his arms over his head with one final tired groan. "I can make Shiro take us somewhere on our lunch break though. If your 'meetup' or whatever isn't too long Shiro can pick you up and we can all go get Chipotle or something. But I get shotgun. Right Shiro?"

Shiro gave a soft shrug, pushing up from the floor. "Whoever calls it first gets shotgun," he said, smiling a little. "But that seems like you called it so... sorry Keith. Matt gets shotgun. If you decide to come, that is." Shiro turned on his heel, and started his way towards the stairway, one hand in the air in a sort of wave goodbye. "I'm gonna go get ready. Matt, get dressed. I'll take you to work but don't make me wait, alright?"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Like I'd ever," he said dramatically even though Shiro had already turned the corner. Once Matt was sure Shiro was gone, he turned to Keith, and gave a grin. "So you up for lunch or are you gonna be too busy with this mystery someone. Your boyfriend, perhaps?"

"Yeah, totally," Keith said, pushing Kosmo off of him and letting him hop to the floor to begin pestering Atlas again. "I'm such a casanova that I couldn't help myself and I'm inviting him over to have sex, the whole buying thing was a lie." He started to get his bag and dug out yesterday's clothes. "I just have to hope that all the moldy pizza boxes and the broken pipes and my grimy single bed won't put him off too badly. That is if he can get past the broken locks on the door and the shattered windows that I boarded up to stop people breaking in. Or maybe, if I wanted a chance, I could bring him here?" 

Rolling his eyes, Keith started to the bathroom, eyes flickering back to Matt who suddenly seemed embarrassed to have asked the question.  
"I'm going to get changed. Watch Kosmo, he might start scratching the door if he thinks I've abandoned him. It's why my door is so fucked up."

Matt nodded, huffing out a puff of air through his lips as Keith walked away. Despite not liking Kosmo too much, nor his size, Matt sank down to his knees and began to pet along Kosmo's chest, sighing a little. After a few moments of just petting the dog, Matt lost enough of his dignity to speak to him too -- having words to say but no one to hear them.

"If he hates it there so much," Matt said in a hushed voice to the dog, side-eying the direction Keith had left, "then why the hell doesn't he accept Shiro's help, hm? Why is your human so stubborn? As much as he complains about Shiro, he's just as hard-headed."

Kosmo looked at him, tongue lolling out the side of his happy mouth. Matt gave a long sigh and continued to pet him.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, hm? You big stupid lug," he said, babying his voice a bit as he rose both his hands to pet beneath Kosmo's ears. "If anything, Keith should move for you. I doubt you like living in a shitty house? Hm? No you don't. You deserve a nice house, baby boy-"

"But Keith doesn't want to move into a big nice house," came Keith's voice, mimicking Matt's cooing, babying words. "Because he wants to stay in the house that reminds him of his dead daddy, doesn't he? He likes having a way of remembering him and doesn't want to lose that by moving house because he was too young to remember much more of him. Oh, yes he was!" he came over, starting to pet Kosmo with one hand, the other brandishing his middle finger like a weapon as he fixed Matt with a glare.

 

Kosmo let out a little whine when Keith pulled him closer, losing Matt's petting.

"But Keith is trying to get a fucking job," he'd dropped the overly sweet cooing tone by then, "And trying to earn money to make his shitty house more liveable for himself and for his dog. It's not his fault that he barely gets enough money to eat everyday for a month at this rate."

And he straightened up, grabbing ahold of his helmet and then the helmet he'd bought for Kosmo, whistling him over to clip it on. He then put on the goggles over the top so Kosmo wouldn't get the wind in his eyes while settled in the sidecar.

"Shiro, I'm going out!" he shouted, starting to the door. "I can't stand being in here for another fucking minute!"

Matt watched him, cringing hard when Keith had slammed the door closed and plunged Shiro's living room into a heavy silence once the echo had ceased. The silence didn't last long, however, because the sound of footsteps on the stairs sounded out behind Matt, along with Shiro's nervous 'what was that?'. Matt gave a low sigh and drew up his shoulders, turning around to meet Shiro's cocked head and questioning stare. He seemed to have just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair damp.

"Keith stormed out because I said something kinda shitty," he admitted, some blush of shame rising in his cheeks.

Shiro frowned at him, and casted a glance at the door, crossing his arms over his chest. It was cold without a shirt on — the metal of his prosthetic had begun to chill after being warmed by the water of the shower. He ignored the slight shiver, however, and cocked his head, voice a little stern when he spoke again.

"What did you say?" he asked in a gentle sort of reprimand.

Matt shrugged. "Something about how he needs to move houses," he mumbled, looking at the floor. "I didn't know his fucking dad died or whatever... I knew his mom was overseas but you never told me that."

Shiro's eyes widened, and he felt his judging sort of stare falter a bit. He looked down at the floor too, shrugging up his shoulders a bit. "It wasn't your business to know," he said softly. "Keith doesn't like talking about it — he told me awhile and it just seemed like he didn't want me blabbing off about it, you know?"

There was a second of silence before Matthew sighed, slumping his posture. "Yeah, yeah, I get that," he mumbled, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his head. "Whatever. He'll get over it. Just go get dressed, muscles. We don't want to be late."

Shiro nodded, and reluctantly turned around, feeling guilty even if he had nothing to do with the situation at hand. He tried not to think about it as he started up the stairs, already starting to feel that ache in his stomach at the thought of Keith so upset. At the thought there was nothing Shiro could do to help — Keith wouldn't let him, for sure. He just pushed open the door to his bedroom and began searching for some dress clothes for work.

Hopefully Keith would still want to join them later... but Shiro didn't know.


	7. Another Encounter

"See? I told you this was gonna be a bust. Just go home Shiro."

Shiro gave a snort and shook his head, still watching the doors to the restaurant from his perch on the opposite building's roof. He used the tech of his visor to keep the closest look on the traffic of the valley parking, watching as each rich couple or family was escorted from their vehicles for some sorry valet to park their car in the restaurant garage. It was a scout mission -- a potential target for the Red Blade had been inside, feasting away with a group of business partners. There was only a slight chance Red would try to kill him that night. In fact, there was more of chance Red was just scoping him out.

But that had been what Matt said about the man killed at Shiro's speech. That had been about a week ago, and Red hadn't showed his face since. Shiro wasn't going to take any chances.

He knew that man in there by name and face, though he couldn't say he was fortunate to. Madicus was a bitter old man -- he was mean and he was snide. Shiro had only ever contacted him to cut ties between their companies. Back when his parents were alive and when the Shirogane name had been mostly associated with weapons rather than medicine, Madicus and his own company was a supplier of energy sources for larger, more destructive sorts of warfare. Shiro was seven when he had first met Madicus, and he hadn't changed a bit. Sneaky, shady, and, as much as Shiro hated to say it, ugly. Inside and out.

But Shiro was going to save him. Partly because it was his duty as a hero. Partly because he couldn't bare the thought of letting Red win again.

"We'll leave when Mr. Madicus leaves," Shiro said into the com, watching the doors. He was dressed head to toe in his suit, carefully perched on the slanted roof of the pub across from that fancy restaurant. He kept one foot propped against the spiked rafters so he wouldn't slide down to the concrete sidewalk, and his prosthetic held firmly to one of the pipes of the building's chimney system. The blue tint to his visor had been dimmed to keep the city pedestrians from noticing him and his shadowed form against the black of the night. "We're saving him, Matt, and if that means tailing him until we catch Red, then we tail him. A little protective stalking never hurt anyone, anyways."

Matt gave a sigh in his ear. "No, but sleep deprivation does," he grumbled. "I'm tired, Shiro. You haven't seen one sign of red anywhere. I've ran the thermal scan three times and I ran that technology scan four times. If he was there with you, I'd know it."

Shiro hummed a little, shrugging his shoulders. "If you want to leave, leave," he said, laughing a little.

"No way I'm leaving you in the field all alone," Matt answered quietly. "You're stupid enough to get yourself killed without me. Not taking that chance."

He couldn't keep himself from grinning at the comment. Shiro leaned back on the building a bit, tilting his head up to look at the smoggy sky, the tip tops of tall buildings cutting into the sight from his peripherals. "Aw, you're worried about me," he gushed in a joking tone. He leaned up, and focused back on the building, still smirking beneath his mask. "That's so sweet, Matthew."

"Ew. Don't call me that," Matt said, shuddering. "You sound like my dad."

Shiro cringed. "Yikes. That's the second time I've been compared to someone's dad this week," he muttered, flushing a bit. "Keith said something like that to me on Monday. The day you pissed him off and everything."

Matt snickered in his ear. "You're just like the dad friend," he assured. "Don't worry about it."

Shiro frowned again. "Maybe I don't want to be the dad friend," he pouted, flicking his eyes off to the side for a second. There was a flash of something that caught his attention, however, so he held the stare, straightening up. A darting of a shadow in one of the alleyways...

"Would you prefer it if I called you the sugar daddy, then?" Matt laughed in his comm.

"Matt. Shut up," Shiro said, quiet as he trained his gaze hard on where he had seen the movement.

"What? You're basically Keith's sugar daddy. Mine too. But instead of sex you just want human affect-"

Shiro shushed him, and leaned forwards onto the balls of his feet, using his grip on the piping to keep him steady. He saw something else -- a flash of something sleek and reflective in the same alleyway. Something like armor or a visor or maybe even a weapon. Shiro grit his teeth and cocked his head forwards.

"Matt, I see something," he whispered. Shiro lifted a hand and pointed. "Focus my visor on that alleyway right there. Zoom in. And run another scan."

Matt followed without another comment, finally sensing the stern quality of Shiro's tone. He zoomed and focused, and then tapped something on his end -- the computer keys clacking loudly in Shiro's ear. Shiro didn't see anything with the enhanced view, the shadow was too dark and his thermal vision wasn't picking up any signatures. However, Matt gave a soft gasp in Shiro's ear.

"Holy shit. I've got a ping," Matt said in an amazed murmur. "The tech scan picked up frequencies with the same tendencies of the ones I got the other that week or so ago when you and Red fought. I told you this scanner would work like a charm."

Shiro nodded, easing his free hand down to the rafter to hold him steady as he released his grip on the chimney pipe. He began to creep forwards along the roof, shuffling slow and cautiously, eyes still trained on that alleyway. "So it's him?" he asked.

Matt gave a hum of confirmation in his ear. "Red or some foot soldier with the same tech. Either way, they're probably here for good ol' Maddy. Do you want me to try and hack into their tech? It seems somewhat computer based, and you know if it's got code I can break it."

Shiro's features darkened a bit as he trained his focus forwards, already mapping out a way to scale down the building nice and quick so he could get to the alleyway as fast as he could.

"Either way, they're not going to win this fight," Shiro murmured. "Don't try hacking into anything. Not until I get to them. I want the complete element of surprise. No one is dying tonight."

Teeth grit and hands balled into fists, one curled around a lighter, Keith reluctantly followed Lance's instructions to go via the back exit. Apparently Madicus had a habit of talking to the chef before he left- which was more often than not a covert signal. Either way, Keith's order of business was to go through the back, hide in the kitchens (somehow, because Lance never explained how to do the difficult things, just that he had to do them) and catch Macidus alone somewhere. Wherever he could. Keith quite liked the idea of trapping him in the freezer and burning him alive; especially after he'd found out about some of the atrocities Madicus had committed. Just a little extra torment wouldn't hurt. It wouldn't hurt him, anyway.

He hadn't noticed the eyes trained on him. He was used to being stared at so the sensation of being watched was so familiar it was easy to ignore, to dismiss. He wouldn't have expected Shiro to be watching him when there were no hints about what he'd been doing. Lance had promised him that their mystery intruder hadn't gotten far enough into the server to see these plans or his intent for Madicus.

It was likely just wishful thinking.

The canister of gasoline was hidden inside and all he had to do was get it and get hidden and get Madicus killed. It was going to be easy. It would have been easy but the second he got to the back exit, the second he was about to enter, he heard a voice behind him that made him tense up and roll his eyes.

"Hey, pyro, don't you even think about it," Shiro snapped, his amplified voice echoing down the alleyway, freezing Red in his tracks.

Matt gave a groan in Shiro's ear. "Pyro? 'Hey, pyro' was the best you could think of? Really?"

Shiro ignored him and moved forwards, using the same sort of stalking motion that he used when prepping for all his fights. He studied the Flame up and down, mapping out his armor and his weak spots like he had done just a little over a week ago. Not much had changed aside from what looked to be upgrades on his gloves, likely so that Shiro couldn't break his hand again. The thought made Shiro just a bit nervous at the first glance over -- hopefully whoever Red had been working for didn't notice Shiro had used a prosthetic to crush the man's hand. There weren't many folks in the city with a full right arm of metal... it would be easy to tie his identity to it. As would his hair and the nose scar if they ever got even the slightest peek beneath his mask.

"Listen, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way," Shiro muttered. He pulled his hand up to his sheath -- he brought a sword to the fire fight that time. A nice advantage, he supposed. He hoped anyways. "Either way, you're not killing anyone tonight. Not again. You've hurt too many people."

"Oh, like every other time you've tried to stop me?" Keith asked, turning to look at him. "My next target is a real monster. If you knew even half of the shit he did, you'd be backing down and applauding me for my work," he hissed out, gritting his teeth as if it were obvious that he was right- as if he wasn't capable of being wrong. As if Shiro would just trust him and step down the second he was given a flimsy reassurance.

He took a few steps toward Shiro.

"Back off," he hissed to him. "This isn't a fucking joke. This isn't a situation where I'm going to let you win. If you save him now, I'll kill him another time. If you save him again, I'll kill him later. You won't be able to beat me." This was the most he'd talked with Shiro and he was glad that his mask, even if it wasn't made of metal anywhere but around the nose and mouth for protection, was able to mask his voice. Lance was planning on remodelling the mask and upgrading it if he could when Keith next sold him whatever he stole. Madicus was rumoured to have a lot of expensive shit on him right now and it would be goddamn worth it to steal as much as he could. Keith already planned on making Madicus beg for his life and hand over everything valuable as if it would give him a better chance of survival.

It was what most of them did.

He turned his body to face Shiro, eyes narrowing into a glare even though he couldn't see it.   
"Back off. Just this once, take the hint. I know what I'm fucking doing and you have no clue what you're fucking messing with!" he shouted, aware that his anger was getting the better of him but god, none of the heroes or the villains in the stories never mentioned how goddamn frustrating it was to have a nemesis. How infuriating it was to have someone tailing him all the fucking time just to try and catch him out.

Keith was going to start asking Lance for some weapons- just ones to stun or to knock Shiro out- to get him off his back. He didn't care about whether or not it was playing dirty. He just wanted to be able to get the damn job done.

Shiro took a slight step forwards, raising his hand off of his sheath and holding both of them up, fingers splayed out and palms open. Something about Red's burst of anger made Shiro's stomach twist uncomfortably. Made him almost want to calm him down in some way... why? Was it because he was afraid of Red getting too violent? Or... or was it something else? Like an instinct of some sort?

He pushed the thought aside, figuring it wasn't really as important as the task at hand.

"Trust me, I know Mr. Madicus has got problems," Shiro said, easing forwards another step. He watched Red tense, and paused, slowing his progression forwards as he continued. "But making him pay with death isn't right. Killing people for their crimes doesn't do anything but make you just as bad as them. If not, you become worse. What he deserves is to be locked up — fair trial. It's his basic right as a human..."

"He doesn't fucking deserve basic rights after what he's done!"

Shiro lowered his hands, taking in a deep sigh and ignoring Matt's confused voice in his ear asking him why he was talking instead of fighting. "I won't ask you again, Red," Shiro muttered, tensing up his shoulders a bit, readying himself for a fight. "Back away from this. I won't go easy on you. After that stunt you pulled last week, you're lucky I'm willing to give you the chance."

Keith grit his teeth.

"If I don't make him pay, nobody fucking will! That's the problem with being rich! You get away with everything you could ever do! You give someone a fraction of your wealth and it could change a life forever but instead you use it to get yourself out of the holes you dig! I haven't met a single fucking billionaire who isn't pretentious! Who doesn't think that they have power and control over every single situation!

"I don't care when I have to do it or how many times I have to fight you off but I'm going to kill him! If not this time, then the next! Or the next! You should be glad I haven't hunted you down and killed you for what you've done to me," he snarled out, his anger urging him forwards before he lashed out at Shiro, lunging at him. He swung a punch, aiming for Shiro's face but knowing it was a futile place to aim. His targets were Shiro's throat, eyes, and ribs. The crotch was also an easy place for him to target.

He was being clumsy. Sloppy as anger got the better of him. From the moment that Shiro caught his wrist to block his punch- causing a burst of pain from his fingers- he had a gut instinct telling him that he wasn't going to win.

Shiro, only a little disturbed by Red's frantic shouting, caught his fist with his prosthetic hand, the clang of fist on metal thumping dully on the impact. He clenched his hand around Red's and then swerved around him, holding the Flame's arm behind his back at what must have been a bit of a painful position. While Red was stunned, Shiro kicked the inside of his locked leg, causing the smaller to collapse down on his knees, held up by Shiro's grip on his hand. He watched Red reach down for something on his belt, but Shiro moved faster, using his free arm to grab Red's wrist and pull it up and away from whatever weapon he could grab. Red was trapped in an awkward position — he couldn't escape unless he tried something with his legs, but Shiro kept a keen watch on them as he leaned down, only slightly out of breath as he began to talk.

"I know it's unfair," Shiro growled through his mask. "But this isn't the way to fix it. Setting buildings on fire and risking the deaths of innocents? Crashing trains and ruining the rest of those civilians' lives? You can't play God, Red. No one can."

The Red Flame struggled a bit in Shiro's grip, so Shiro pulled a bit harder on his arm, inciting a slight gasping-grunt of pain from the man beneath him. Matt warned him that pulling just a little more he could dislocate or even break his arm. Shiro kept the facts in mind but he didn't release his hold.

"I'm giving you one last chance, Red," Shiro said darkly. "Walk away and I'll let you go. Make sure I never see your face on these streets again. You have a mission and I get that, believe me I do. But this is not how we're supposed to get justice. This isn't right."

"Don't act like you understand at all," he hissed out. "You scold me for playing God but you think you have authority over me? What the fuck does that make you?!" he asked, shouting a little. He tugged sharply at his arm, hearing a sickening pop but managing to get away from Shiro, getting to his feet and swinging a roundhouse kick at Shiro, catching him in the jaw. He moved back, taking a few steps back and panting a little. He took his arm, grunting in pain at his dislocated shoulder. He raised his arm above his head, reaching over to his opposite shoulder and feeling it pop back into place. It stung like hell but he couldn't dwell on it, charging at Shiro again and swinging a punch to his diaphragm just below his ribs.

He was just hoping he wouldn't lose too tragically. Maybe dislocating and resetting of his shoulder would have thrown Shiro off a little.

It did. Shiro watched in a sort of horrified awe at Red's determination, cringing wildly at the sounds of his popping shoulder. That same stupefied feeling had been clouding his judgement when Keith had went to deliver that punch. It struck him hard, causing Shiro to grunt and then to gasp for breath, stumbling back a little with both hands clutching his stomach. He had only just stopped coughing when Red was on him again, attacking with his good arm in some feral sort of nature that left Shiro almost frightened. He dodged that first punch by jumping backwards, stumbling a bit before his fighter instinct took over. When Red lunged again, Shiro retaliated with a more level headed punch, angling his arm so the knuckles of his organic hand would slam into the poorly protected space beside the Red Flame's eye.

Shiro hoped to knock him out, so it was a rather powerful swing. It whipped Red's head around and sent him falling backwards into the ground. Shiro gave a soft hiss and shook his hand a little, his knuckles aching and the nearly healed burns on his palm stinging just slightly inside of the rough material of his gloves. He watched as Red fell, hoping the blow was enough to shove him into unconsciousness. Then Shiro would unmask him and hand him over to the police — he gave Red his shot to leave already. He wasn't going to do it again.

Keith hit the floor hard, coughing a little. He was drained of energy, the punch had sent stars across his vision and made him feel dizzy. He was pretty sure he was concussed.

But he couldn't afford to stay lying there and have Shiro unmask him. He couldn't afford to be caught out. No matter how desperately he wanted to close his eyes and submit to his need to rest, he managed to push himself up. He rolled over to settle on his elbows, hunched over and coughing a little more. He finally managed to push himself up, sending Shiro a look just to see if he was getting close and if he'd need to try and defend himself again. His only options would be attempting a punch to the throat and he wasn't sure how that would work.

Shiro suppressed a roll of his eyes at the Flame's perseverance, tensing up once again for more animalistic lunging. If Red lunged, Shiro would punch him with his prosthetic — the blow would be strong enough to knock him out for sure. He stayed where he was however, not wanting to advance.

He deemed Shiro too far away to be a threat and pushed himself to his feet despite how the dizziness almost immediately took over and he had to grip the wall to avoid his knees buckling and collapsing again. One last glance in Shiro's direction and he brandished his middle finger like it was a weapon, like it was his final attempt to get Shiro to fuck off, and began to start away from the alley.  
"Save Madicus," he hissed out. "But when news gets out about everything he's done, you'll see why I wanted him dead."

And he turned the corner, starting away from the restaurant and waiting until he was a safe distance away. There was a bag hidden behind a bin behind a house and he stopped. He dug out a jacket and pulled it on over his suit. He slumped against the wall, aware that he'd need medical attention for his shoulder and ice for his soon-to-be black eye. He wasn't even sure what to do for his concussion. He texted Lance, saying he needed help and giving his location, being promised that he would be collected soon.

It didn't take long before he was collected, able to slump into the passenger's seat and letting Lance drive him back to his shitty house.

~~~

"Did I do the right thing?" Shiro asked after a moment or so, his eyes focused on the research on Mr. Madicus displayed about his laptop, his cool, prosthetic hand massaging the bruised knuckles of the other. He was sitting on his couch beside Matt, Atlas curled around his feet. It was the morning after the fight and Shiro still felt... uneasy.

Matt looked up from his own computer, which he had been using to try and decode some of the signals he had gotten from Red's tech frequencies. "What do you mean?" he asked, cocking his head. He had a lollipop in his mouth, and his words were slurred and garbled around it. Matt reached up a hand and pulled it from his lips with a soft pop, and furrowed his brow. "Red is the one who dislocated his shoulder. You didn't do anything."

Shiro shook his head. "No, no," he mumbled. "I mean saving Mr. Madicus. Was that the right thing? Everything the Red Flame was saying... it seems like he might have been a bad person..."

Matt stared for a second or so. "You're kidding me, right?"

He earned a confused blink in response, to which Matt offered up a long, tired sort of sigh.

"First you're guilty because you don't save someone," Matt mumbled. "Now you're guilty that you did? What the hell Shiro?"

Shiro frowned and turned back to his laptop. "It's just that-"

"Would you kill Red if you had the chance?" Matt asked, cutting him off, leaning forwards on the couch a bit.

Shiro furrowed his brow. "No, I would never-"

"Would you kill anyone if you had the chance? The most evil sonofabitch in the world? Would you kill them?"

There was a pause. "No. Not without questioning them first, anyways," he answered, swallowing hard. "Everyone deserves a chance to speak for their actions. Killing first and asking questions later is... barbaric to some extent, I think." He was starting to understand what Matt had been getting at.

"See, that's what Red was going to do. Kill first, no questions," Matt said, turning back to his laptop. "You stopped that because you've got morals. Edgy fire dude does not. Speaking of edgy, has Keith responded yet? I'm hungry and tired of waiting for him."

Shiro gave a long sigh, willing to drop the conversation. He shut his laptop quickly and reached for his phone checking for any new notifications. He had texted Keith about an hour ago, telling him he was free from work that day and he was wondering if he wanted to go to the diner or something with Shiro and Matt. There still hadn't been a reply. Shiro figured he'd been sleeping -- it was eleven in the morning, but that never really meant anything when it came to Keith's sleeping habits.

"No answer," Shiro sighed. He unlocked his phone and brought up his contacts, tapping on Keith's. "I'll call him. If he doesn't answer I guess we can leave without him."

Matt rolled his eyes. "God, why does he have to come everywhere with us?" he asked, looking back from his laptop again. "You're so attached to him. What gives?"

Shiro gave an indignant huff. "I am not attached to him. I just like him... a lot..." Shiro mumbled, bringing the phone up to his ear and listening for the rings. "He's a great friend."

"A great friend who literally acts like he doesn't care about you half the time."

That stung. Shiro shushed him, frowning as he listened for the rings. He suddenly hoped with all his might that Keith would answer... he wanted to prove something to Matt almost. If Keith didn't care about him, he would ignore the call. Or even hang up. Keith wouldn't do that to him? Right?

The ache in his chest said otherwise.

Keith picked up, though it was clear that the call had woken him up. His voice was hoarse and scratchy when he murmured his drawled out "Hey" into the speaker. He knew it was Shiro- he had a specific ringtone for him (holding out for a hero, thanks to some inside joke he couldn't even remember anymore) and Shiro was the only person who ever really called him. Lance texted and nobody else contacted him.

Kosmo was curled up on the bed beside him, letting out a huffy little whine when he felt Keith move underneath him. His black eye was forming nicely by now and his dislocated shoulder was agony if he moved it too much or too fast. His concussion left him with an almost permanent headache.

 

But he was alive, so he couldn't complain.

"What is it?" he asked Shiro, his words barely coherent, slurred with exhaustion. He'd only managed to fall asleep at around eight that morning, which was shit. He'd have slept earlier if he could have but his brain just didn't fucking let him get any rest anymore. He was sure he had insomnia but he couldn't be sure and he sure as hell didn't have the money to go to a doctor and get diagnosed.

"Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out to the diner with Matt and me, but you sound... exhausted," Shiro murmured, brow furrowed. A soft concern wisped through his chest like the trailing of an irritating feather, tickling his lungs. "Are you alright, Keith? You sound sick."

Matt mumbled something about Keith faking it, but Shiro delivered a gentle whack to Matt's leg with the back of his hand, shushing him. Shiro knew Keith. He had known him ever since he highschool -- he knew his tones and he knew most of his lies he could tell and he knew when something was wrong. That croaky, slurred tone he'd been speaking with lit up alarm bells about Shiro's system, making him lean forwards a little bit and frown.

"If something's wrong I wouldn't mind going over to help with Kos," Shiro offered, ignoring Matt's over-excessive groan from beside him. He parted his lips to offer more help, but Keith's snide comments from a few days before thrummed about Shiro's head like an echo, so he stopped. Shiro swallowed hard before continuing, stuttering a bit. "But- I, uh, don't want to cross any limits. I'm sure you want to be alone. If you are sick at all I mean..."

"You're a wreck," Matt mumbled, earning another whack from Shiro's hand.

 

"I don't think Matt wants me to come," Keith murmured into the receiver. "And if you don't want me to hear him, use a shittier phone with a worse receiver. I'll be fine, man. Kos can handle it. You should spend time with Matt. I'm sure he'd prefer that.""

Keith pushed himself to sit up and let out a loud curse at the pain that shot up from his shoulder, his breath catching. He settled against the pillow again, his fingertips shaking a little with the strain of such little movement. He would have said yes to spending time with Shiro if it weren't for the fight they'd had yesterday. It was really damn suspicious that he had these injuries that all coordinated with the ones Shiro inflicted on the Red Flame yesterday and if he mentioned that it was another fight, Matt would start up on that 'moving house' lecture bullshit. It wasn't Keith's fault that he didn't want to move. HE was actually about to make the first payment on getting someone in to fix up the kitchen, which was pretty damn expensive but it was going to be worth it. He hadn't been able to use his kitchen in months because of the broken oven and the mold- and generally not being able to afford food to cook every single day.

"Thanks for checking in, though. If I need help I can call someone else to save you the hassle. Seriously, man, go have fun with Matt," he murmured, as if he were trying to bring something else up before Shiro commented on his earlier shout of pain.

Shiro lost his previous worry over his own, as Matt had quoted it, 'dad friend' concern, and he furrowed his brow a little. "Keith, if you feel like you need to go to the doctor, I can pay the bills — I know you don't have good health insurance," he said, ignoring Keith's diversion. "If you don't want me to see or... or something like that. Just say the word and I'll transfer the money over to your account. I won't even be able to check the bill."

There was a soft silence after that. Shiro could sense that Keith was either brewing up a sharp, snide sort of quip, or another pointless little drabble to push Shiro away. He gave a deep sigh and cut it off before it could begin.

"Or don't take my help, whatever you want," he muttered, the words hard to say. "But if you do, it's not me babying you. I'd do it for anyone — even if I hated the person. Everyone deserves to afford basic medical attention. It's basically a right as a human."

Shiro flicked his gaze to the strangely silent Matt, who was watching him curiously, head cocked and eyes narrowed behind those round glasses.

"You don't have to answer now. Matt and I are gonna go. Just text me if you need anything. Be smart, okay?"

"No promises," Keith said before he hung up, throwing his phone aside. It took him a few minutes but he was eventually pushing himself up from his seat to get to the kitchen to feed Kosmo, Shiro's earlier concerned words still ringing through his ears. Like hell he actually cared about what was going on. If Shiro paid just a little more attention to anything, he'd have realised Keith's secret identity.

It was always so easy to push him away. Shiro really should have given up on him already to find someone else to look after. Someone who would care about and accept his help.

Shiro gave a deep sigh when he heard the line die, pulling his phone from his ear and hanging up his own end before stuffing it back into his pocket. He began to stand.

"Let's go," he mumbled. Shiro didn't know why there was a bite in his tone or why there was the soft pinch of anger in his chest. "Keith isn't coming."

Matt watched him for a second or so before he slowly pushed his laptop to a close. "Why do you let him do that to you?" he asked, hesitant.

Shiro gave him a look. "Do what? What is he doing to me?"

Matt gave a shrug of his shoulders in response, standing from the couch with a look of what seemed like gentle pity. Shiro hated it — it made his skin prickle so he flicked his own gaze away, watching his feet instead.

"Look, Shiro, if Keith doesn't want your help, there's nothing can do," he said, voice a little bitter. "You're just stressing yourself out with him — and you've got enough on your plate already."

Shiro frowned. "What, are you suggesting I just should just drop him?" he said almost in a sort of snap, growing a little bit too defensive. Shiro noticed by the widening of Matt's eyes that he'd been a little over the top with his reaction, so he backed off, turning his stare to the floor. "I'm okay Matt. Thanks, though... for worrying about me I guess. But it's okay. I can handle Keith."

He could, couldn't he?

Keith had no faith in Shiro looking after him for much longer. He knew it wasn't good for him to keep everyone at arms length but he didn't know what else he could have done. He didn't understand what other options there were to do. Shiro still looked after and cared about him even after all the horrible shit he'd done.

Not that Keith really cared. He knew there was more to it and that stemmed solely from the fluttering feeling from his gut that he felt every time Shiro's hand settled on his shoulder or Shiro smiled at him or gave him that teasing little fucking wink.

 

It drove him insane but, of course, Shiro was in love with Curtis, the pretentious prick he works with, while Keith was stuck being the poor basket case kid who all his friends hated. Just thinking of Shiro and how sweet he was made Keith's head spin and that was what he hated so fucking much about it all. He never fell in love with people. He never fell this hard, anyway.


	8. News and Gossip

The door to Shiro's apartment opened and closed, but Shiro didn't seem to pay any mind to it. He didn't pay any mind to Matt's long, drawn out hello, slurred past the pizza slice tucked between his teeth. He didn't pay any mind to Matt tossing his bag onto the couch and then his half eaten box of pizza onto the coffee table before slumping down into his normal corner of the couch. He certainly didn't pay any mind to Matt's groan, and the judgemental stare he could feel watching him from his peripheral.

"The news?" he said, taking the pizza from his mouth so his chastising could be a bit more stern -- as stern as he could be with red sauce smudged about his lips and chin. Matt lifted an arm and wiped the sauce away with the sleeve of his hoodie, turning his gaze towards Shiro's television -- the soul object of Shiro's focus. "What are you blaming yourself for now?"

Shiro heard that last part, and responded with a very silent and very taut sort of tone.

"Red got him."

He'd been combing through each and every news channel for at least three days -- nonstop since the fight in that alleyway. Shiro and Matt would gear up and tail Madicus when he went out, and Shiro would call in tips for police officers to keep an eye on Madicus and his manor, which was located on the outskirts of the city. When they didn't believe him, Shiro would do the dirty thing and bribe them with cash to watch on him, desperate to win against Red and his fire. It seemed as their masked pyro hadn't been too keen on showing his face for that collection of days that had passed -- Shiro even had the slight, wan hope that the villain had taken Shiro's words to heart.

But that evening, as soon as Shiro flicked on the first of the news broadcasts he would normally check, his unrealistic positive outlook had burned up and shriveled to a crisp, just like Madicus's manor had just hours before Shiro had left work.

The fire had been so large and so monstrous that the entire mansion had been engulfed in those orange yellow claws heat and destruction. Nothing had survived -- most of the house had been reduced to a blackened skeleton, its final salvageable structures still burning despite the best efforts of the firefighters. Mr. Madicus's corpse, or what had been left of it, was found in the library. He was due for an autopsy the next day, but Shiro was sure the man had been burned alive. Screaming.

The Red Flame would have made sure of it.

"Holy shit," Matt murmured, leaning forwards on the sofa. "What... what happened? I thought we had this under control..."

Shiro nodded gently, not tearing his gaze from the television screen. "I thought we did too," he said, voice bitter. "There was one cop car stationed by the back entrance. Two police officers were found dead in the front seat. Knife to the heart..." Shiro hung his head and gave a low sigh. "I tipped them off to go there Matt. That's on my hands. If it was me there-"

"It couldn't have been you there. You were busy at work, and someone had to protect Madicus," Matt said, quick to counter argue Shiro's self destructive mumbling. "You did the civilian thing and gave the police info. They were just following orders."

"Orders I paid their boss to give them," Shiro growled. He lifted his head back up and trained his empty gaze on the television again, scowling. "Whatever. I don't want to talk about it."

Matt watched Shiro for a second or so, the tone of Shiro's voice setting him on edge. He offered the softest nod, and reached for the remote -- nice and slow as he changed the input to one of Shiro's game stations. The news flicked off and Shiro's hypnotized transfixion seemed to falter a second, eyes blinking away the glaze for the first time in what felt like hours. He shook his head and sank a bit further into the couch, looking down at his feet while Matt powered up one of the remotes.

"What movie do you want to watch?" Matt asked, changing the subject entirely -- steering it into an entire different track with his own voice and his words. Shiro could have almost sighed aloud with his relief for Matt's ability to just let that emotion go. He watched as Matt clicked onto the Netflix icon, the loading screen appearing across Shiro's large television.

Shiro shrugged. "Anything's fine," he said softly. Shiro's gaze found the pizza box. He reached forwards for his slice, inwardly telling his diet plans to screw off as he ripped a piece from the half eaten pie. "Nothing with fire. I don't want to think about that bastard until I've got him in chains." He shook his head again, pausing as Matt gave him a nervous sort of glance for the comment. Shiro looked back, and hardened his stare one last time before letting the topic go entirely.

"I can't wait to see him pay, Matt. He's going to get what he deserves -- even if it kills me."

Shiro was sure of it.

The Red Flame would not be let off easy. Not anymore.

~~~

And Keith wasn't being let off easy.

Not while he stood in Zarkon's office, tension making his body as stiff as a board as he glared at the floor. He wanted to glare at Zarkon but even he knew that it was too dangerous. Zarkon's mood was already sour enough. If it got any worse... he didn't have confidence that he'd make out alive. Definitely not unharmed.

"This has been the most disgusting display of incompetence I've seen in years," Zarkon's low purr came as he sat at his desk, eyes narrowed and fixed on Keith. He could only barely see the shine of his eyes faintly beneath his sunglasses. The curtains in the room were wide open and yet the large chair that Zarkon sat on- almost resembling a throne- towered tall enough to cast a shadow from where he sat to where Keith stood, almost three metres away. Everything in the office was lavish and expensive- just a little show of Zarkon's wealth. Everywhere in his manor was like this. Everywhere in his office building was like this. Everywhere Zarkon owned- provided it would be used and visited by people of a high enough class- was like this. Keith would have stolen more than just petty stationary if he could have gotten away with it. Last time he was caught stealing, though, he'd been threatened with losing a hand so he 'couldn't steal again', as Zarkon had snarled out.

But he hadn't learned his lesson and even as he stood there, aware that this wasn't going to go well for him, he had his pockets weighed down with whatever he'd pocketed from the waiting room.

Zarkon stood from his chair and moved slowly around the desk. Keith had to will himself to stay still, instinctively wanting to step back. He'd had all his weapons taken before he'd gotten inside so he couldn't even defend himself if he'd tried.  
"How did you manage to screw up such a simple mission so easily?" he hissed between his teeth. "Your last few missions were successful. Is this 'Black Paladin' pest being so incessant that he interfered with the one mission I gave you?"  
"I was caught off guard," Keith said, gritting his teeth slightly. "It didn't happen any other time and it won't happen again." He managed to raise his eyes to fix on Zarkon's face, though he couldn't hold the gaze for long. The slick scar that dragged down the left side of his face was so grotesque and jagged that for a moment Keith was grateful that the left lense of his sunglasses was darker than the right, blocking out whatever the scar looked like as it dragged over his eye. He could see it cut through his eyebrow and dragged halfway up his forehead.

Zarkon was intimidating. For a reason, obviously, not to mention the monstrous size of him. He didn't seem human. He towered too tall, he was too muscular- he must have been more than seven feet tall and Keith wouldn't have been able to guess how much he weighed.  
"We can leave this here," Keith said, attempting for some stupid moment to try to control the situation. "I made my mistake but I fixed it. It won't happen again."

Zarkon studied him for a moment or two, the hand that rested on his desk drumming its fingers. The sharpened nails clacked upon the wood as he split the silence up into each and every tap. It was along while before he spoke, the atmosphere so tense with the teasing drum of his fingertips it seemed nearly solid. Nearly suffocating.

"You don't get to tell me what we will do, boy," he said, tone snide and dark, rattling in his throat as he spoke -- the rasp a clear sign he'd been a smoker. "You say that interference was the only time, but he nearly cost you your mission at Ladnok's, too. You were on camera because of his distraction-"

"But I didn't fuck up the mission at Ladnocks!" Keith snapped, taking a step forward and glaring up at Zarkon, eyes burning with a passionate anger. "I completed the mission with or without Black on my tail! You-"

 

Zarkon slammed his fist onto the table, the loud bang of his fist cutting Keith off in an instant. The echo managed to settle for only a few seconds or so, before Zarkon reached forwards with his other hand, snatching Keith's bad arm by the wrist and yanking him forwards. Keith struggled, but Zarkon simply tightened his grip and pulled him closer, tugging so far on Keith's still injured arm so he'd been leaning over the front of the desk. Zarkon leaned forwards, his gnarled, scarred features only an inch or so away from Keith's pain twisted ones.

"Did I say you could speak?" he asked, very quietly. His tone was like ice, settling in the room. When Keith didn't answer, Zarkon pulled harder on his arm, threatening to pop it from its socket for the second time that week. "Answer me, boy!"

"No," he managed to spit, gritting his teeth to mask the pain of the grip on his arm. "You didn't." He wanted to get out of this fucking grip but it hurt so badly to be held like that. He regretted telling Zarkon about the injuries he'd gained from that last fight. They were weak spots now and they would be used against him.

Zarkon held him tightly like that for a moment or so, making sure to bask in Keith's haggard gasps and pained eyes a little bit longer, before he wrenched his hand away as though he'd been releasing something filthy. Keith stumbled backwards, just barely keeping his balance. Zarkon waited for him to regain his bearings before continuing on.

"We must get that temper in check," he said, darkly. "But as I was saying -- the Black Paladin has proved to be a nuisance more times than one. He's taken out my foot soldiers. He's hacked into databases. Our intel suggests he may have compromised one of our most secure servers. This masked fool is a problem I can no longer ignore."

He leaned up, drawing his hands back from the desk, and easing backwards into his chair again. He folded his hands and rested his chin upon his intertwined fingers, offering a dark smile. "Next time you see him, take care of him," he hissed in that gravely voice of his. "If you fail, you will be punished and your status will be downgraded. I have other men I can send after that pathetic excuse for an enemy."

Keith's eyes, still narrowed into a glare, fixed on Zarkon's shoes so that he could still direct some anger in his direction without facing further abuse.  
"I won't fail," he said sharply, though he already knew that he wouldn't be able to kill Shiro. "But I'm the best man for this job. Nobody would be quite as invisible." He took a slight step back, as if anticipating a reaction. "Am I dismissed now, sir? I have to get on with personal issues and I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to."

Zarkon was silent, letting Keith's question sink into the room. "Very well," he said in a sneer, lifting a hand and waving his fingers towards the door. "But before you go, despite your failures I must congratulate you on your work last night. I will tell Axca the same due to her quick work of those police officers. Kill the Black Paladin the next time you meet him, and you may earn the ounce of respect you lost three nights ago. Once he is dead, bring his body to me so I may unmask his corpse. Do you understand your orders? If you do, you may be dismissed."

Keith watched him, saying nothing for a few moments as if he expected Zarkon to change his mind, before turning and leaving with his hands curled into fists, twice as tense as he'd been when he entered. He left the room without a word, letting the door close behind him and sliding a gold paperweight into his pocket before he walked to the elevator. Zarkon could live without it. He wouldn't even realise that it was gone.

And he settled down into the seat on his motorbike, starting en route back home, his mind plagued with thoughts of Shiro and Zarkon. If he did kill Shiro, he wasn't sure if he could live with himself. If he refused, Zarkon wouldn't let him live. He could only manage to say Shiro 'just slipped from his grasp' three more times before Zarkon lost his temper and he was already planning on rescheduling all of his plans back a few days to give him more time to mull this over. Perhaps, if he were going to lose Shiro soon, he might as well make the most of the time that they had left, right?

Braking at a stoplight, he pulled out his phone and called Shiro, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder when the light turned green, waiting for him to answer the phone and hoping none of his friends would get there first.

Shiro had just gotten back home from another outing with Matt when the phone rang. They went out to work together, had tacos for their lunch break, and then Shiro went home while Matt stayed at the office — a rather rare occurrence, that their positions would flip. Shiro was only only able off one of his shoes by the door when his pocket began to buzz. Shiro closed the door, and pulled his phone out, features lighting up a bit when he read the little contact. He answered with a tap of the green icon, and brought the phone up to his ear, slipping off his other shoe as the connection was made.

"Hey Keith," he said, smiling. Shiro still wasn't in the best of moods after what the news had told him the night before, but there was no denying that happy lift in his tone whenever he'd greet Keith. Sighing, both Black and Atlas at his ankles, Shiro made his way inside his home, and settled down on the couch.

"What's up? You feeling any better?"

"Good enough to ride," Keith said, speaking over the loud purr of the motorbike engine. "Is anyone at yours? I want to head over. I've just got to pick up Kosmo. I've got some people coming in to redo the kitchen since I finally scrapped up the pennies to afford it and I want to be out of the house while they're working." He was leant forwards, his shoulder still awkwardly hunched up so he would be able to hear Shiro. He only lived a few minutes away- eight usually, five if he cut through traffic, three if he risked his life to get home quick- so it wouldn't be long before he was going to Shiro's with Kosmo in his sidecar.

Three weeks before Shiro would have to die. That was his guess. Three at maximum, that is, and even then it would be pushing it because that would have to be one fire a week, one run-in a week, and that would be too slow for Zarkon's liking. Especially while he had Axca trying to get him to work adequately enough- which he was hoping would have just been a one time only event.  
"I should only be another ten minutes. That alright?"

"Of course," Shiro said, a bright sort of feeling warming his chest. He hadn't seen Keith in a few days... he missed him. Not to mention it was Keith who had asked to come over, rather than Shiro's own clingy requests. "It's just me here for now. It'd be great if you came over."

He leaned against the backrest of the couch, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling, a comfortable smile splayed about his features. "I doubt you want me to cook, but I've got pasta. Sauce can't be that hard to throw together, right? I'll give it a shot," he said, reaching a hand to let Black, who had hopped up beside him for attention. "But we can talk about this later. You should focus on the road. I'll see you when you get here — bye, Keith. Drive safe."

Keith snorted a little.

"Try not to burn the house down in the next fifteen minutes and we'll be all clear," he said as he took his phone, hanging up and tucking it away in his pocket, swerving sharply down the next turn and soon stopping safely outside his house. He whistled to show Kosmo that he was there and started inside, letting him out to jump eagerly into the unattached sidecar. Keith gathered his food and bowls (and a hat that Kosmo hated) before he left. He clipped on the helmet, tucking the hat underneath him and leaving the food and essentials with him before hooking the sidecar up. He fixed Kosmo's goggles into place and kissed his nose for good luck before hopping onto the bike.

 

And, fifteen minutes later, he and Kosmo were waiting outside Shiro's door. Kosmo's tail was wagging as he sniffed at and underneath the door, pawing at it, able to smell Atlas from the other side of the door. He left a few little scratches but Keith, shrugging it off as a 'personal touch', didn't intervene.

"Kash, come on!" he called. "Unless you've somehow killed yourself cooking, come get the door!"

Shiro gave a snort and rolled his eyes as he made his way to the door, shaking his head a little as he opened it, scooting Atlas out of the way with his foot so she didn't get the full on force of Kosmo charging into the apartment.

"Oh, come on," he pouted, giving Keith a smile despite his tone. As he suspected, Kosmo wasted no time barreling into Shiro's home -- Keith let go of the leash and Shiro stepped aside to let Kos thunder past. He looked up at Keith after following Kosmo's path with a slightly concerned stare -- watching to make sure he wouldn't break anything, of course -- and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not that bad at cooking. I've survived seventeen years cooking for myself... well, I didn't cook for myself, my nanny did until I moved out... but my point still stands."

He gave a snort and stepped aside again. "You could have let yourself in," Shiro said, shrugging as Keith stepped past him. He closed the door, and followed Keith in. "Also you haven't called me Kash in a while. What gives?"

"I don't like letting myself in," he said with a shrug, averting his eyes before he started inside. Kosmo dashed back over to Keith, then ran between his legs, knocking Keith off his feet and making him stumble into Shiro in his mad frenzy to get to Atlas, barking at her a little too loudly to announce to her that he was there. She jolted a little and meowed in his direction, getting a few kisses in response. Black was curled up on the couch, happy to be left alone.

Keith pushed himself off of Shiro and kept his head down so Shiro wouldn't see the crimson splattered about his cheeks in a dark blush.

"Come on, let's go get something to eat. I'm starved."

Shiro nodded, a gentle hand on Keith's shoulder until he had steadied himself. They were rather close -- and even though Keith's head had been ducked and his hair hung about his face, casting shadows behind the wavy raven locks, Shiro noticed something odd about Keith's face that had been hidden by his hair from before. Very carefully, Shiro lifted his prosthetic to Keith's face, brushing the hair behind his ear and then letting his eyes widen at the faded bruise curling up and around the outer circle of his eye.

"Keith," he said softly, furrowing his brow. "Jesus. Are you okay?" Shiro's hand moved to touch it, but he stopped himself, not wanting to hurt him. "You were hit. Who... who did this to you? Did someone try to steal your bike? Is this why you sounded so sick the other day on the phone?"

There was a long pause where Keith didn't respond. Shiro, flushed with a sudden terror of Keith pushing him away again, shook his head and stepped back before Keith could say anything anyways. "I... it's fine," he mumbled, trying to keep from sounding so concerned. "You don't have to tell me. Let's just go eat -- if I leave that pasta on the stove for any longer I'll mess it up. If you can mess up pasta."

He turned and started towards the kitchen, lifting a hand to rub his temple, trying hard to keep himself for begging Keith to be more careful. The bruise was older, maybe a few days. It was greenish blue and looked painful... incredibly so. Shiro didn't have to look at it long to know it came from a punch -- a good one, from someone who knew what they had been doing. Not from some petty car thief on the street...

His mind brought him back to the night Keith told him he had no reason to lie. Something odd sizzled in Shiro's gut as he shut off the stove... he just wished he knew why.

"God, I'm starved," Keith said as he got himself a bowl of pasta, deciding to change the conversation just because he didn't want to lie to Shiro anymore. He pushed himself up onto the counter again and began to eat, finding that the pasta was pretty well cooked compared to Shiro's usual. It was a little overcooked but edible. "This is good," he told Shiro. "Better, anyway. What have you been doing recently? I mean, three days has to be a lot of time for a CEO with an almost-boyfriend and too much time on his hands." and even as the words 'almost boyfriend' slipped past his throat he felt his stomach twist with guilt and betrayal but he forced himself not to show it. It wasn't important, anyway.

Whoever Shiro was happy with, he'd have to be with. That was it. No matter how sick he felt when he saw Shiro with Curtis. No matter how bittersweet it was when the flush on Shiro's cheeks made his heart skip a beat with something akin to love and his stomach churn with longing.

"Come on, tell me everything."

"'Too much time on his hands'?" Shiro asked, laughing a little as he scooped himself out his own bowl, drizzling the overcooked sauce overtop of it before sitting beside Keith at the counter. "More like not enough. Who would have thought running a company would be so time consuming?"

He took a bite of his food, tasting the problems right away but pretending he didn't notice them -- as he always did whenever he would cook. "Well, I finally cleared up all of the costs and problems after that fire," he said, sounding proud of himself. "My company won in court -- the man who died, his family sued, but we weren't held accountable for it because it was an attack and all. I still made sure to pay for the funeral, though. It was the least I could do." Another bite of his pasta, a soft cringe at the burnt flavor, and then a clearing of his throat.

"About that 'almost boyfriend' who is not my almost boyfriend even though you and Matt seem to think it's a thing," he started, rolling his eyes a bit. Keith pushed away the relief he felt upon hearing that. "I offered him my old job -- now he's like my second hand man. Like I was to my parents' successor guy before he died? I'm taking him to dinner on Friday to make up for walking out on you two when we went out a while ago. Nothing romantic, so don't even try." He lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. "I would invite you too but... he kinda said he would prefer if it was just the two of us. You guys... didn't hit it off as well as I planned that night."

"It's not my fault," he muttered. "You could tell that he was looking down on me. I didn't look as fancy as you two and I have bruises and split knuckles and no money. I was stuffing my face because I hadn't eaten in days and he was disgusted because he's rich and doesn't know what it's like. You'd be the same if you didn't know me by now," he said as he hugged himself, averting his eyes and deciding to drop the conversation there, his empty pasta bowl set aside. "But it doesn't matter. You two deserve the time alone and I shouldn't interrupt. I know Matt's getting sick of me being invited around so much and I'm sure Curtis already hates it- and I was only there once."

He pushed off of the counter, giving Shiro a slight nudge.

"I appreciate being included though, I guess. It gives me something new to waste my time on and I always get free food out of it."

Shiro gave him a guilty sort of look, that comment about how Shiro would have been the same pretentious character Keith painted Curtis to be making him feel dirty. Making him feel almost hurt. Did Keith really believe him to be so shallow? He turned his gaze back to his half eaten pasta bowl shaking his head a little and deciding not to dwell on anything. Shiro decided to drop the conversation all together, sorry he'd brought it up in the first place, and then began to stand. He gathered their plates, dumped his leftovers back into the pot, and put everything else in the sink to be washed later.

"I'm... I'm really glad you came over," he said, smiling a little as he turned around. "It feels like it's been awhile since we really hung out. Just me and you. I've been so busy, and then when I'm not busy Matt is here..." Again, Shiro decided to let Keith's comments be, wanting nothing but comfortable conversation, and not an awkward one about the tension between two of Shiro's closest friends. "Is there anything you want to do? I'm okay with anything you might be up for."

"Nah, I just want to get settled here. We can kill time however you normally do it, unless you just want to watch a movie? Your choice," he said, smiling a little. He didn't really want Shiro to choose a disney film to cry on but he didn't get to watch them with anyone else and he was always a softie in secret. "I just need some time to relax and I can't do it at home while people are rebuilding part of my house."

He moved to the couch and slumped down, barely getting a moment to speak before Kosmo was jumping up on top of him and curling up around him, letting out a happy little 'awroo' at him and earning a few scratches behind the ear.

"Heya, baby," he cooed. "Beautiful, beautiful baby. Aren't you happy to be at Shiro's? Hm? Aren't you happy to be here with a nice comfy sofa to sleep on? We can have a house like this soon, yeah?" he said, kissing Kosmo between his eyes on the bridge of his muzzle before settling back. That was why he took the job- to get some money to live off of. With what he had now he could redo the kitchen, and his next step was getting new panels for the roof, then wooden flooring in the living room so he could fix that up bit by bit. Then he'd move to the bedroom and the bathroom. It would be slow-going progression but he wanted to get this done.

 

Maybe then he'd actually invite Shiro over instead of having him appear at the door whenever Keith was late to something or wasn't responding.

Shiro sat on the couch beside him, smiling at the cute display of Keith baby-talking his dog. "It's really cool you're fixing it up. The house, I mean," he said once Keith had finished his adorable conversation with Kosmo. Shiro leaned back, stretching on arm over the backrest of the couch, and propping up on of his legs over the other. With his free hand he controlled the remote, already pulling up his saved movies. "Imagine the look on your mother's face when she gets home to a new house basically. It'll be priceless."

Something akin to a smile curled onto Keith's lips.

"Yeah," he said, scratching behind Kosmo's ears. "She'd love that. It'll be a nice change from being out on deployment."

Shiro tapped through his library of movies, looking for something Keith might have liked rather than something for himself. It was then Shiro realized he didn't quite know what Keith had liked. Years of being his friend and he never ever voiced any sort of opinion on the matter... but then again it was too late to ask. Shiro moved his eyes around the screen and found the first movie that met his three requirements: no fire, no crashes, and nothing too childish. Two of those were for the sake of Keith, of course — he knew how Keith was about fire and he didn't think he liked cartoons like Shiro or Matt did. As crashes go, Shiro could handle them in film, but... he preferred to not have to every now and again.

The movie he clicked on was some eighties film about biker gang vampires — a real classic, actually, Shiro really enjoyed it. He set the remote down and sighed, flicking his gaze Keith's way.

"How is your mom, actually?" he asked, polite, making sure not to cross any boundaries. "Has she written at all? Next time you write to her tell her I said hello, please."

"She hasn't," he said, a frown replacing his earlier smile. "I usually get two or three letters every year from her and the last one I got was months ago. From what she said last time, she's fine. Doing better than I would be in her situation- though I'm sure it's all bullshit. Propaganda n' shit. She can't tell me honestly what's going on so I wouldn't know. She might be coming back soon, though- in a few months- and hopefully by then I'll have made the house a lot nicer. It's not been tidy since..." since his dad passed, was the rest of the answer, but he couldn't just slip that into a conversation. Not without Shiro giving him that sympathetic look. At least it wasn't pity- he knew that much. Shiro knew how it felt to be looked at like you were something to be pitied, to be babied, and he was glad he didn't have to endure that kind of thing.

He pressed a kiss to Kosmo's forehead, sighing as he turned his gaze to the screen.  
"But I will tell her what's happening. I'll tell her you say hi, if I can. I'll make sure that you can come over when she next comes home." He moved to sit up a little more, though Kosmo whined at it. "I'll show you the new kitchen when it's finished, too. You're going to like it."

Shiro smiled a little bit. "Well, I can't wait to see it then," he said, looking back to the television as Keith did. "Maybe then I can make bad food at your house too."

Black padded out from behind one of the corners, chirping softly from across the room. Shiro patted the space on the couch next to him, and she trotted up in an instant, curling beside Shiro's leg -- the side Kosmo hadn't been on. Shiro pet her idly as he watched the movie, the room a comfortable sort of silence. It wasn't long before he felt Atlas lie down in her normal spot by his feet, purring as she rolled over onto her back and stretching out her front legs. Shiro gave a soft sigh and settled his head against the backrest, choosing to settle his eyes into a comfortable close rather than choosing to watch the cheesy film before them.

"I think I might take a nap," he hummed into the quiet room, just over the sounds of the eighties music that thrummed at a comfortable volume from the surround sound speakers. Shiro was tired -- incredibly so. It was his first evening off in three days, and the next morning would be his first morning off in nearly a week.

"Just wake me up if you need something, okay? And don't let me sleep all night..." Shiro trailed off comfortably, taking his hand from Black's fur and settling it down by his side. She meowed in protest, but Shiro ignored her, knowing she'd quiet down in a bit.

"Already?" Keith asked, pushing up a little, frowning. He'd come over to spend time with Shiro and... and he was just going to sleep? He just wanted to have a nap and that was that? "I... maybe I could try to get some sleep, too? And why not just head through to your room? I'm used to sleeping on an uncomfortable bed- I'd like to sleep in your nice, proper bed again."

He slid off of the couch and pushed himself up, even if that meant Kosmo fell onto the floor with a soft thud and a betrayed whine. He began to the bedroom without waiting for Shiro, Kosmo coming trotting alongside his heel again. He moved to settled into the bed, lying on top of the blanket, just expecting Shiro to come through after a few moments to join him. He would have been fine sleeping on the couch any other time but right now he'd much rather be with Shiro somewhere like here.

Besides.

They were on limited time.

Shiro furrowed his brow as he watched Keith just get up and move towards the bedroom, thrown by Keith's sudden change of attitude. He pushed up, apologizing to the meowing Atlas for moving her as he stumbled after Keith, clicking off the television and flicking off the lights as he followed his friend up the stairs. By the time he had made it to the bedroom, Keith was already settled in the normally empty space on Shiro's bed, and the two cats had been back on Shiro's heels.

"Well, uh, I mean I guess we're sleeping in here," he said, sounding a little dumb as he moved his way inside, closing the door behind him.

Shiro made his way to the dresser, sliding it open and rifling through it for a sleeping shirt to wear. He found none -- he had forgotten to do the wash. Of course. He turned around to ask Keith if he would have been okay if Shiro slept without a shirt on, but found himself speechless at the sight of Keith stripping himself of his own shirt, tossing it aside on the floor before settling back down into the mattress. Shiro's face flushed red and he looked down at the floor, awkwardly clearing his throat as he figured he should have done the same. After a few moments of indecisiveness, Shiro began to unbutton his uncomfortable dress shirt, slipping it off of his back and hanging it up by the dresser.

He looked down at himself, blushing a bit, and rose his arms to awkwardly cross over his body -- covering up his scars. Shiro looked up at the indifferent Keith in the bed, and cleared his throat again, swallowing hard before he spoke.

"Do you need anything to sleep in?" he asked, hoping Keith would say he wanted a shirt so Shiro had an excuse to find one for himself too. He didn't know why it felt so strange to be so exposed in front of him... he was fine with Matt, and, like Keith, Matt was one of his closest friends. What was the difference? "Maybe a shirt? Sweatpants or something?"

Looking up at Shiro, Keith managed a little shrug, his eyes fixed on the scars- the sheer amount of scars that spread across his torso and up to his neck.

"Yeah," he said, sure that he was responsible for a number of those scars with their frequent fights. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind," he muttered, averting his eyes from the scars and the fresh bruises scattered along Shiro's chest that he knew he was responsible for.

Keith moves to sit up a little straighter, calling for Kosmo- who came barrelling onto the bed and lay with his paws on the air- as someone to distract him and keep him company while Shiro found some shirts for them. He wanted to apologise to Shiro before he had to kill him. He wanted to be honest with him at least once before he was forced to execute his closest friend. The guilt would kill him if he didn't.

"Are you going to wear one of your nerdy sci-fi shirts?" He asked after a few moments, grinning yet again, wanting to start talking before his thoughts could spiral too badly.

Shiro, who had been in one of his walk in closets beside a plastic box of old clothes, gave a snort as he rifled through it. He stood up, two shirts in hand, and a pair of sweatpants for Keith -- he had changed into a pair of his own very quickly in the concealed closet so Keith wouldn't see the old burns on his legs. There were plenty of scars he could explain -- he could blame most of them on the crash, if anyone asked, really.

Whenever he brought it up people seemed to get awkward and to quiet down... as awful as it was, Shiro had to admit his trauma was a good tool to help keep people off of his back. Sure, the scar on his face, the ones on his chest, the one on his head beneath the white tuft of his forelock, and that large, clawing one that stretched up from whatever was left of his right arm before it turned metal were all from the crash, but plenty of them were from his vigilante work too. Slashes from knives that got past his armor. Picked at scabs from scraped knees or elbows from falls or tumbles. Skin that had been split too many times from punches or kicks. Even some messy stitchwork he had gotten from Matt. Those all weren't from the crash, but Shiro could say they were with ease if anyone were to ask.

However, he couldn't say that the burns were from the car crash he'd been in when he was eleven years old -- they looked too new for that. And if anyone knew what burn scars looked like... especially aged... he supposed it would be Keith.

"Yes but don't worry," Shiro said as he left the closet, closing the door behind him. "I got you one too so we can match. Space Explorer shirts for everyone." He held up both shirts, smirking a little at the frown Keith had given him in response.

Shiro tossed Keith his clothes, and pulled his own shirt over his head. It was smaller -- older. Stretched over his chest and arm muscles a little tighter than normal, but Shiro figured it was better than just being shirtless. He settled into bed when Keith had been dressed (sure to look away respectfully when Keith had been switching out his pants, of course) and slipped beneath the covers.

"Sorry we're turning in so early," Shiro sighed as he turned around, laying on his side as he faced Keith. "I've just been... tired, I guess. But I have off most of the day tomorrow -- I don't go in till eight pm and then I get off at ten. Is there anything you wanna do?"

"I can't blame you," Keith started up with as he moved a little closer, running his fingers through Kosmo's hair as he lay like a landblock between the two of them. "Maybe we could go out for something to eat tomorrow and then see where that takes us? You know it doesn't take much for me," he said with a small smile as he hugged his knees to his chest, still pressed up close to Kosmo like it would give some reassurance to the guilty ache in the pit of his stomach. Being nice to Shiro because he was going to die was one thing. Being nice to him because he knew he was going to murder him was another, much worse thing.

"What's your workplace like?" he asked eventually. "I never asked. It wasn't that important to me because I never worked there but I'm curious. Can you tell me about it?" He just didn't want Shiro to go to sleep just yet. It was likely that they wouldn't get to spend much time together until Shiro's inevitable end so he didn't want to waste most of their remaining time together sleeping.

Shiro smiled at him, furrowing his brow at the strange question. He didn't dwell on Keith's odd new curiosity, though, and instead embraced it as he planned out his answer, humming a little. "It's busy," he said after a while. "I don't like to stay in my office like one of those CEOs who just sits on their ass all day, but the second anyone sees my face its question after question. I make two rounds every full work day and they each take hours because so many people have problems or complaints. But it's alright, I guess." Shiro shrugged his shoulders a little, and turned to lay on his back, smiling at the ceiling through the bed canopy.

"I like to think I'm changing the world with it, you know?" he said, sighing a little. He pet Kos idly with his hand, smiling a little wider whenever Keith and Shiro's fingers would accidentally meet. "I have enough of the resources to make a lot of difference. Next year I might go overseas with a relief team to one of the more war ridden countries -- I just filled out my request form for it. Help kids get the treatment they need. Help amputees get better prosthetics. Sure I get a little busy but that's what happens when you want to make a difference I guess." Shiro turned his head over to smile at Keith. "I was actually thinking about inviting you to come with but it's a big trip. A hard one too -- we'll be staying in a poor town with no running water and stuff like that. I wasn't gonna ask until I got the go-ahead from the company, but I mean why not give you a better heads up, hm?"

"Yeah," Keith nodded softly, though he didn't like to think about that because it made his stomach churn to consider that Shiro already had his life set out. What was Keith going to do when he was no longer being payed to set fires and having his identity hidden? Nothing would give him the same thrilling rush as holding a lit match and letting it burn down to his fingertips before he threw it to the gasoline. Nothing would give him the same sensation of power as watching house after house go up in flames and knowing that it was his doing.

"That sounds nice. I'll go with you if I can," he said, eyes closing as he moved to lie on his back,Kosmo's head resting on his chest. "Well- not nice nice but it's a good thing to do. It's better than staying in my shithole house with no running water."

Shiro blinked a little, and offered a soft frown. "You don't have water? Or was that a joke?" he asked, concern lacing his tone. Shiro pushed up a little to look at him. "If you need help with the water bill I can-"

"No, don't worry, I know how to budget well enough to have running water. I'm selling my motorcycle parts and scrap stuff I fix up and that's getting me enough money. Seriously- it's nothing."

Nodding gently, Shiro settled back down, trying to ease his concern a bit more at Keith's reassurances. "Oh, okay," he said, laying his head back down. Shiro gave a soft sigh, wondering if the question he had floating in his head was worth the risk of getting Keith angry at him. After a few moments, Shiro settled his eyes close and took a chance.

"Have you thought about getting a job? Like a steady one?" Shiro asked, voice cautious. "There is no judgement — I swear. You're obviously smart enough to manage yourself, I know. I was just wondering if you were looking for something steadier than selling old motorcycle parts. Maybe a few extra dollars could help with the house." He gave a soft shrug. "There's plenty of places in the city you could work part time even."

"It wouldn't be that easy," Keith said. "I mean- what could you see in me that would make you hire me? Not just because you know me, though, but I mean if I were a stranger and walked in wearing skinny jeans and a dirty t-shirt, would you hire me? With matted greasy hair and barely able to eat? With my anger issues? I'm not going to be able to get a job easily, Shiro. Not without changing every aspect of who I am and even then I wouldn't be able to keep it up. My options are so limited that I was considering going into the army."

He moved his hands to his face, rubbing it, eyes closing.

"I'd want to work somewhere stable if I could but I've tried and I've never been hired. I can't just depend on you to be cleaned up and given smart clothes."

Shiro frowned at him. "Keith... you know I can help, right?" His tone was quiet and careful -- he knew he was getting close to making Keith mad but... he couldn't help but push a little more. "I can help you find a job, and I can help you get hired. I don't mean to overstep any boundaries but... God, Keith, sometimes I just wish you would let me help with this kind of stuff. I could do so much for you if you'd just..." Shiro trailed off, swallowing hard. He managed to ruin the atmosphere... somehow he always managed to do that around Keith.

He couldn't help it. He felt like he could give the world to Keith... but Keith wouldn't even accept a dollar.

"Nevermind," Shiro sighed, closing his eyes. "I know you don't like when I do that. I'm sorry -- I just-... sorry. Forget I said anything."

He reached a hand up to his head, brushing his fingers through his forelock. The room was heavy with Shiro's mistake -- heavy with Keith's silence. Shiro took in a deep sigh, and let it out in just the slightest of wavering breaths, shaking his head a little. He had to find something to revive the atmosphere. He had to find something to fix his mistake-

"I met Matthew's sister the other day. Katie? Or Pidge I guess. She said she knew you," Shiro mumbled out of nowhere, obviously desperate for a new conversation. "She works at this coffee shop with this young guy named Lance. He seemed to know you, too. Made a face when your name came up, and left for the break room. Guessing you guys are on weird terms?"

"Oh, Blue?" Keith asked before he could stop himself, moving to sit up a little. "I meant Lance. It's- that's a nickname- but we're not on weird terms. He just doesn't like to talk about people. He's the one I'm always texting," he said, well aware that he probably shouldn't have shared so much information but he was still talking regardless. "And I didn't know Matt had a sister. If she's one of Lance's friends then he's probably told her about me but I wouldn't have met up with her."

He sighed a little, curling up and moving to press his face into Kosmo's neck.

"Lance and I don't talk outside of our phones or when he comes to buy stuff from me so he wouldn't have wanted to talk about me, anyway. Don't worry about it too much."

Shiro gave a soft smirk. "So he's the mystery guy Matt thinks you're dating," he hummed, happy the conversation had changed. "Are you guys dating? Or do you just have a little crush on him? I promise I won't make fun of you if you do — trust me, I know how annoying that is. I've got Matt basically planning out my future life with Curtis."

Shiro didn't know what he hoped Keith's answer would be. Of course, having someone to date might have been best for him. Someone to love and care for. Having someone love and care for him... someone who wasn't Shiro, of course.

He couldn't really tell why that last little thought stung so much.

"Lance isn't that kind of person," he said, eyes closing. "We're hardly even friends, if I'm honest. He only ever texts me when I've got something to do and I only text him when I want something. It's nothing like that." He sighed a little, wiping his eyes, pushing one hand through his hair. "He's dating someone, anyway. Before you start thinking we could get together. He won't tell me who but he always calls her his 'lioness' for some reason. He always gives everyone such stupid nicknames," he said, cupping Kosmo's face and getting a lot of kisses in return, grinning. He loved how affectionate Kosmo always was- and it was a nice distraction from the conversation so he wouldn't give too much away.

He didn't want to tell Shiro too much about Lance in case it could clue him in on something. He didn't know why he was saying so much in the first place.

"What about Curtis, though? Are you dating yet?" he suddenly asked, changing the subject entirely to avoid talking about Lance.

Shiro blushed a little, and shook his head. "I told you we aren't- I... ugh..." He cut himself off with his own defeated sigh. After a few moments or so, Shiro shrugged up his shoulders. "I think he likes me... I'll admit that. And I don't know if I like him or not. I mean... I get these butterflies in my stomach whenever he talks to me. His eyes are pretty and he's probably one of the only people on earth that's taller than me which is...uh... nice, to say the least." Shiro gave a soft laugh, and closed his eyes, trying to push the dirtier thoughts from his head at that last little bit.

His face had been flushing steadily as he went on, face growing warmer as he let himself properly ramble -- ramble in a way he wouldn't dare think of normally. "It's like a highschool crush, you know? Not that I'd know what a highschool crush is like, but still," he said, still smiling a little. "The only thing is he has a crush on me too... and I don't really know what to do after that, you know? How do I know how serious it is? How do I know if he's... right for me or not? With Adam I could tell right away and we even met online. But with Curtis it's different..."

Shiro blinked a little, and shook his head. "But, uh, I'm too busy for anything like that," he mumbled, clearing his throat and losing the smile. "As much as I'd love a relationship... I'd just make them miserable. I couldn't do that to Curtis -- if I wanted to date him that is. My life is too... complicated."

"Try it," Keith said without thinking. "There's no point in delaying it. You have the chance to start investing yourself in a relationship that could make you really happy. I'm not an expert- shit, man, I don't know anything about relationships so I don't know whether or not you should listen to me but... if you died tomorrow, would you regret not being with him?" he asked, forcing his tone not to carry the weight the words had on his chest. He didn't want to kill Shiro and leave him dead with regrets. He didn't really want to kill Shiro anyway but that was irrelevant- he didn't have a choice.

"The point is that I don't want you to regret not dating him while you have the chance. If it doesn't become something bigger then you don't need to pursue it anymore but at least you'll... y'know, know."

Shiro turned his head over to look at him, offering the gentlest of smiles. "Maybe," he said, though his voice was considerably brighter than before. Shiro knew deep down things would never work between him and Curtis if he continued his work as the Black Paladin... but everything Keith had been saying made him feel a little better. Even if Keith didn't know what Shiro did in the dead of the night... even if he knew Keith would never understand... it all made him feel better.

He rolled over on his side, suddenly wanting to see Keith -- suddenly wanting to reach out and hold him like he did those few nights ago. Of course, all he really saw beside him was a mass of fur, Kosmo a large wall between them. If Keith wasn't so cuddled up to his dog, Shiro might have gathered the courage to tell Kos to move and push him away... something inside him just ached for Keith. He ignored the soft tug, however, and settled for a soft stare Keith's way -- his round, heavy lidded eyes hidden behind Kosmo's curled up body.

But Keith just lay back in bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, guilt stirring in his stomach for what he was going to have to do. And he waited for sleep to take him.


	9. Addiction

It had been three days and two nights since that one, and Keith still hadn't left.

And Shiro was happier than ever about it.

The morning after Keith's first night over Shiro had spoken to Matt over the phone. He had woken up before Keith, and snuck downstairs to eat some fruit for breakfast, talking to Matt in a soft, quiet voice over the phone. The call had started off with the topic of the Red Flame and any horrors he might have committed, but when Matt told him the police scanners were dry and no buildings had been set aflame, the topic moved over to Keith. Shiro had told Matt in a chipper sort of tone that Keith was going to stay with him for a few days. Matt had responded with a few moments of silence, and then a very quiet mumble that told Shiro not to get his hopes up.

Matt could have been as cynical as Keith as he wanted to. Two mornings later and Keith had still been beside him in bed when he woke up.

The third night of Keith's prolonged visit, and the night before his 'date' with Curtis, Shiro sat cross legged on one of the chairs in his room, hunched over his laptop. He was doing a multitude of things, really -- his day at work had been his best one yet as CEO of his company. Seven applications from people wanting to be his secretary, four lawsuits from people either fired or injured in one of the labs, two reports he had to write about the latest tech experiments his sponsors were funding, and then, finally, there was a follow up request form for that trip he wanted to take next year -- the first had been approved, but he'd need to get two more stamps of approval before funneling money into the journey.

On top of all of that, however, Shiro had been keeping a rather close tab on police scanners and news websites. Just then as he sat on his chair he'd been switching back and forth between his report work and the live news website, making sure to scour the page up and down every ten minutes or so. The silence from Red had been unnerving him... it felt like the calm before the storm. Shiro didn't like it one bit, and, as happy as he'd been with Keith staying with him, it was beginning to wear on him and his appearance.

With his makeup washed off, Shiro's eyes were darker with heavy backs. Acne, both from stress and his excessive use of concealer, began to show up around his hairline despite his very expensive skin care products he used to keep the red spots away. The hard day at work didn't help the tension of his shoulders, nor the knots in his neck and the small of his back. Shiro knew he would need a spa day soon -- all the fighting and the stress was making his muscles ache. A massage and a facial would cure all his problems in due time... all he had to do was wait for those Goddamned burn marks on his legs to completely fade away.

Keith was sitting on the edge of Shiro's bed, playing with Black. He dragged a felt mouse tied to a string around the floor -- Shiro watched him with a smile every now and again, flicking his eyes up every time Keith would laugh at a leap from Black or one of her funny little chirps.

"Smart move," Shiro said to Keith after one of Black's more impressive leaps. "Tiring her out before bed. She kept me up all night last night. Jumping on me. Playing with my hair. God, sometimes I envy dog people." Atlas, who was curled around Shiro's shoulders, as she normally did when he'd work over his laptop, flicked her tail as if she heard him. Shiro gave a soft laugh and pet her, shaking his head. "I'd never become one. Don't worry baby. I'm team cat for life."

"Kosmo sleeps like a rock," Keith said, smiling. "Which is convenient until he'd sleeping on top of you and you can't breathe but he won't let you push him off." He laughed softly, tugging the string away from Black just as she pounced and tugging it around as she settled on the floor and wiggled her butt for another pounce. "But... before we put them to bed," he got up, throwing the mouse to Black and watching her pounce on it, starting to chew on the toy. It wouldn't last a minute. "You're really tense."

 

He started to the chair Shiro was in, lifting Atlas from Shiro's shoulders and setting her on the floor.

"Maybe you should take a break for a little bit. You seem overwhelmed- you're clearly struggling to keep up with everything." His hands settled on Shiro's shoulders and he began to massage them, starting to work the tension out of them with circular movements of his thumbs. "You need to take some time to yourself. To relax. Is there anything that I can do to help you?"

He'd been seeing Shiro's condition deteriorate for days now and while it was frustrating, yes, it was also extremely worrying. What was he supposed to do? Just sit back and let Shiro overwork himself to death? If he could help, he'd help. That was that.

"Keith," Shiro mumbled in a weak protest. The rest of his complaint, however, had left him rather quickly once Keith had gotten to work. Shiro hissed at the contact of Keith's thumbs pressing into the sensitive knots of his neck and shoulders, but once the initial ache of the touch had subsided against his nerves it had been nothing but comfort. He hung his head forwards, humming a little as Keith continued to knead at his muscles with his thumbs.

He shook his head a little and huffed out a gentle laugh. "If I take a break, I'll be even more behind on everything," he said in a whine. "I'm CEO. I'm supposed to be struggling to keep up with everything." He gave a snort of a laugh, rolling his shoulders a little bit. Shiro hummed again, and settled his eyes closed. "But that feels really good..."

"Just five minutes," Keith continued, trying to coax him into agreeing, leaning a little closer. "To clear your head a little bit. There's no harm in that, is there?"

He was just hoping that Shiro would say yes, applying a little more pressure to some particularly tense spots and drawing a noise from Shiro's lips. One that he was hoping would be followed with some murmured agreement that it would be better for his health if he complied. He didn't want to drag Shiro to bed and push him down to get him to admit that it was better. He didn't want to be forcing Shiro to do anything but it would be better for his health and it was pretty infuriating that he never complied.

Shiro hesitated a moment or so... but then he gave a deep sigh, and closed his laptop. He set it down on the table beside his chair, and leaned back into Keith's touch. "Fine." His voice was empty with his own defeat. He started to say something else -- something smart and grumbled -- but Keith's thumb pressed hard into a rather painful knot in the muscle of his back and Shiro gasped. The gasp turned into a quiet groan when Keith rolled his hand down and smoothed down Shiro's back, kneading and loosening up the uncomfortable tightness of muscles that previously felt like taut bowstrings.

"Why are you so good at this?" Shiro asked in a murmur, suppressing another hum as Keith moved further down his back. He was starting to become embarrassed by the state Keith was putting him in -- if it didn't feel so damn good, Shiro would have stopped him. Shiro was simply a mess for the relief, and if not the relief, then the physical touch itself. Matt had been gone for a few days, and Kosmo always prevented Shiro from getting close enough to Keith to cuddle -- Shiro was starved for affection... which was pitiful enough as it was. "Have you done this before? If so, why were you hiding this from me? I could have saved a hell of a lot of money just going to you instead of a spa."

"Maybe because I didn't want to become your personal spa," he said, making sure to apply a little more pressure every so often to get the tightly wound knots in his muscles. "And because it damages my image. How can I still have my intimidation factor if I give godly massages?" He smiled a little, still being cautious not to hurt Shiro too badly while massaging it. "And why does it matter if you save a hell of a lot of money? You've still got loads of it."

Shiro snorted. "I mean, yeah, but it's still good not to waste it on myself..."

Keith would have stopped by now, content, if it hadn't been for the groans of satisfaction that glided past Shiro's lips at every other movement and the little blush that had grown along his cheeks. Keith's face was a similar shade by now but he didn't want to let Shiro know how it got to him so he didn't want to let him get up yet. Instead, he just let his hands move steadily lower, rubbing the same little circles.  
"Do you feel better now?" he asked, a little concern weaved into his words.

Shiro nodded, arching is back a little as Keith moved lower. "Much," he said, voice a bit of a sigh. He knew the treatment would end soon, and he knew by what Keith had been saying that the whole thing was a rather rare occurrence. Shiro figured it was the best, however. With all his inexperience in that area of life, Shiro didn't really think a massage was anything weird or even sexual... but the natural heat lighting up his cheeks told him otherwise. If Keith continued any longer, Shiro didn't know what state he'd be in.

"Thank you," he hummed, finally realizing he hadn't said it yet. "Things have been kinda... stressful lately. I've got a lot on my plate with work and with..." Ah. Shiro had been so comfortable he almost slipped up. He pinched his eyes closed and shook his head a little. "Work. This helps more than you think."

Keith nodded a little, humming softly as he kneaded the palms of his hands into Shiro's lower back, loving how it looked to have Shiro underneath him like this, sprawled out, so perfectly relaxed and letting out such beautiful noises.

"I'm happy to help," he said, eyes scanning along Shiro's body, studying his form, the tight muscles under his thin shirt. "No matter what it takes, I want to be here to... to help." He almost lost his train of thought, having to force himself to focus again.

He sat up a little.

"Take off your shirt, I'll see if it's better like that," he urged, a little smile curling onto his lips to reassure him a little. He was nervous. He didn't know how well he'd be able to handle that but Shiro was enjoying the massage and he did seem to be far more relaxed already. Besides, Keith had said he'd do anything to help and he wasn't lying.

Shiro's eyes fluttered open, and then his brow furrowed, a stutter in his system causing his breath to hitch a bit at the question. Shiro cleared his throat, brushing the quick reaction away. "I... uh... I mean, sure. I guess," Shiro managed to get out, agreeing only so Keith wouldn't make fun of him for wimping out of it... that was why he agreed... right?

He straightened up, reaching his hands to his neck as he began to unbutton his shirt, starting from the top and working his way down. Just before he could shrug the shirt from his shoulders, however, Shiro paused, looking down at himself. That self conscious burn from a few nights ago rose up in his chest again at the sight of his scars. Matt was the only person he'd let see them regularly aside from the lady at the spa. Every now and again he'd wear a shirt with higher cut sleeves and expose the starting patches of raised white tissue that curled around the muscles of his left arm, but that was really it in regards to the public. He didn't swim for a reason. He didn't work out outside the comfort of his apartment either.

He certainly didn't sleep shirtless when Keith was over.

"Maybe I should just leave the shirt on," Shiro said quietly, his entire face flushing a deeper red, shame coursing through his veins. He was making things awkward, wasn't he? Keith was just... trying to be a good friend. Right? "I... I mean... ugh. Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

Cringing and blushing a little more, Shiro shrugged his shirt off and tossed it aside, feeling like he could kick himself for even bothering to say anything. The air of the bedroom was cold on his bare skin. Shiro tried not to let it bother him as he ducked his head a little more, already feeling the heat creep down the back of his neck and his shoulders.

"I'm sure it's been five minutes, by the way," Shiro mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm the one with a watch," Keith said, his hands settling on Shiro's back and starting to massage him again. He kept his eyes on the male beneath him, his eyes scanning along his body every so often.

He didn't realise what he was doing until he had already leant down a little closer, straddling Shiro's hips and letting his hands slow to a stop.

"Shiro," he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched Shiro. He waited until Shiro had turned to look back at him before he leant in. His thoughts were fuzzy, hazy with nothing but his need for Shiro. The look in Shiro's eyes, the shining kindness and the way that he looked at him like he was everything. Keith was selfish, he knew that, but perhaps it was even more selfish of him to know that shiro was going on a date tomorrow and to lean in regardless, bringing their lips together slowly, almost hungry for Shiro's lips against his own.

He couldn't help himself. Something about Shiro's nicotine lips were too addictive for him. He couldn't help himself, eyes closing as he moved one hand to cup Shiro's cheeks. Everywhere that their skin touched made his skin burn and his body tingled. He just couldn't help himself. Every part of his body craved more of Shiro. Perhaps that was the result of hiding feelings from him for so long- or it was the result of his loneliness festering and taking ahold of whatever it could get to satisfy him. He just wanted as much of him as he could get.

Shiro had jumped at the contact of their lips, eyes shooting open and muscles tensing the moment Keith had kissed him. There was a second or so of shock -- a second or so where Shiro felt Keith kiss him oh, so gently... so sweetly... -- before Shiro could properly react. He pulled back, leaning in the chair a bit, wide, round eyes looking Keith up and down with a look of pure surprise. Shiro could feel the heat of his face... he knew it must have been about as red as rubies. His heart pounded in his chest, the pulse in his throat seemingly choking the words from his system as he scrambled for something to say -- something to say to Keith's blank face and heavy lidded eyes as they watched Shiro blush and fluster.

"Keith," he started, the word nothing but a shuddered whisper. In fact, shivers had been crawling up and down the flesh of his back by then in spite of the sudden boiling nature of his skin. It was almost feverish, as if the shock of Keith's affection was enough to strike Shiro with illness. Shiro reached a hand up to his light head, swallowing hard as he flicked his eyes away from Keith's. "Did... did you just... did you just kiss me? Wh-why?"

 

"Was I not meant to?" Keith asked, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly, beginning to panic that he'd done something wrong or that Shiro was going to kick him out. He didn't want to make Shiro uncomfortable by doing something impulsive like this- it could have consequences that he hadn't even anticipated. "Shiro, I- I wasn't thinking-" he said, one hand still settled on Shiro's cheek as he watched him, averting his eyes after just a moment. He didn't know what Shiro was going to say.

The hand on Shiro's face buzzed against his skin, sending a comfortable feeling throughout Shiro's skin as if the sweetness of Keith's touch had seeped down into his pores. His lips still tingled -- the ghosts of Keith's still gracing them with its presence, the feeling making Shiro's insides twist. It was a strange kind of twist... like the wrenching of one's heart... or the tugging of ones system. It was rare Shiro would ever feel such a powerful sensation -- for a moment he almost didn't recognize what it was.

But that that familiar ache began to form somewhere deep in his gut at the regret that flashed in Keith's eyes... and Shiro knew what it was.

It was want.

"Wait," Shiro blurted in a breathy sort of tone. His shaky hand moved to hold Keith's, keeping it still against his face, desperate for more of that buzz. He leaned into Keith's touch, the icy grace of his cool fingertips making him shudder again. "You... you can do it again. I-I mean if you want to. I was just surprised -- I didn't see it coming. But if you do it again I... Please just do it again."

Keith didn't care to hesitate. After such a scare that he'd made a mistake he was going to take full advantage of this. He was going to make the most of this.

He brought Shiro closer and pressed their lips together, eyes closing as he moved one hand into Shiro's hair. He scraped his teeth lightly along Shiro's lower lip, his hand starting to move from Shiro's cheek to the back of his neck and then slowly sliding along his bare tone chest. It made his cheeks turn red and a little shudder of excitement ran through his body. He couldn't count the amount of times that he'd thought of having Shiro this close and he could barely wrap his head around the fact that it was happening now.

He didn't know how long he'd spent craving this closeness, this intimacy. If not from Shiro, he would have wanted it from someone else. He was just damn lucky that Shiro hadn't rejected him.  
"You're a good kisser," he said breathlessly between kisses, laughing a little against Shiro's lips.

A flush of something warm seemed to spill through Shiro's system at his laugh — the feeling dribbling from his chest to his stomach. It wasn't like butterflies, no. It was like... honey or something. Slow and warm and sweet and so goddamn addicting. He'd never felt that way before... not to that extent anyways. Every now and again when he was with Adam he'd feel such a longing but that was years ago.

And it was never that good.

"Well," Shiro huffed in between another kiss, "that's surprising... I don't really get a lot of practice."

Shiro's head was spinning. What was he doing? What was he doing? Since when did Keith want to kiss him? Since when did he want to kiss him back? Was there something he missed? Something in spare glances or discreet smiles? Jesus, just a few days ago Shiro was worried Keith saw him as a fatherly figure!

He was sure he needed a moment to clear his head — to think things over — but he didn't take the initiative to lean back. That honey tasted too good in his system. The buzz that trickled from his lips and across the skin of his face was too thrilling. The touch of Keith's hand trailing up and down his chest, the goosebumps the touch left behind on his flesh in its wake, felt too amazing.

Before he knew it, his own hands were on Keith, acting on their own accord as one of them slid up into Keith's hair to mindlessly play with his long locks. Was it always so long? Shiro's other hand was trailing down the side of Keith's body, feeling the curvature of his rib cage and then the sturdy build of his abs. Was he always so muscular? He kissed Keith until he was breathless, and then some more — every time one of them would pull back to gasp, they'd just lean back in. Shiro didn't even think, he just kissed... that was until Shiro felt Keith's tongue pressing against his lips.

His breath hitched, and he froze, locking up. Shiro knew how to kiss with tongue... but only from kissing Adam. And from the videos online he used to watch as a teenager to learn. But again... those were both years ago. He watched Keith lean back a little and cock his head at Shiro's tension, feeling guilty and stupid for being such a mess.

"You can keep going. I'm sorry," Shiro huffed, voice husky, face flaring. "I... I'm not good at this stuff. I haven't really-... I-I mean-"

"Shut up and kiss me," Keith cut him off, leaning in and bringing their lips together again. He didn't want to waste time with Shiro's embarrassed rambling. If something was genuinely wrong, he knew that Shiro would say something. And either way- Shiro had told him to keep going and didn't seem to be too upset.

Hooking one arm around his neck again, Keith pulling Shiro closer and pinning him down, swinging one leg over Shiro's waist and straddling him. He brought their lips together again. He began to trace scars and muscles, humming a little against Shiro's lips before taking the bold move again of running his tongue along Shiro's bottom lip to ask for permission to deepen their kiss and take it further. He wanted to ensure that Shiro was willing to take this further before he started doing anything, no matter how badly his hips craved friction.

Every little touch they shared was like fire. It gave Keith a thrill that he only ever found when he held a lit match between his fingers or when he was able to watch fire grow and spread and devour everything in its path. Shiro was the only thing that could satisfy him the same way that that could. Perhaps that would make killing him a little inconvenient.

Perhaps knowing that he was going to kill Shiro was what made this, their current situation, feel so easy.

"I want you," he'd murmured against Shiro's lips the second he'd felt lips part to let him in. He slid his tongue into Shiro's mouth, biting along his bottom lip for a few teasing moments before he slid his tongue between Shiro's parted lips. Being this close to Shiro, breathing in his scent, being able to kiss him and hold him and tug his hair, it was something Keith had denied himself for so damn long. If he'd known that it would feel this good, he'd have taken this up instead of arson; though they were both equally dangerous. His addiction to holding the lit match, to the lingering scent of gasoline and ash, that could be dealt with. Could be satisfied. His addiction to Shiro, on the other hand, was insatiable. It was needy and demanding all the time, every little glance he spared Shiro's way flared a new sense of longing, of hunger, and it was dangerous to want to be so intimate with and so close to a man like Shiro.

Shiro's eyes fluttered, and the softest sort of whine seemed to escape him when Keith's tongue touched his own. He tried to ignore how pitiful the sound had been, and instead tried his best to kiss Keith back -- to run his fingers across the muscle of Keith's side, slipping the cool fingers of his prosthetic beneath Keith's shirt so he could trace the curvature of his ribs with it, his organic hand still twirling gentle circles about Keith's hair. He tried not to grab down too hard with his fingers, afraid of pulling Keith's locks too hard, but every time their tongues would meet and every time Keith's hand would drift lower Shiro's hands would both clench.

A new sort of warmth was starting to gather together in the base of Shiro's stomach -- Keith's kiss and Keith's touches were starting to become a little too much for Shiro's sensitive system. He knew that he was starting to venture into unknown territory -- he knew that in a few more moments, based on what he had seen on television and in movies, that things were going to reach a point that neither of them would have been able to back down from. Shiro didn't know if he should have stopped. Shiro didn't know if he should have said something. He didn't want to, really. He didn't want to spoil the mood...

Would admitting he was a virgin spoil the mood?

"Keith..." Shiro breathed between a kiss, not really knowing what he meant to say. His whole body was hot and trembly, excitement lacing his nerves. He had only gotten like that a few times before -- once with Adam before they promptly stopped, and a few times on his own when he'd get stressed and lonely enough to open up a porn website or something.

He pulled back a little, breathless and panting. Shiro didn't know what to say for a good few moments, his head light and foggy. "You... you want me? What does that mean, exactly?"

Keith, laughing breathlessly against Shiro's lips, pulled him closer and moved one hand to Shiro's hair, giving a teasing little tug."I want to have sex with you," he said, a smile curled onto his lips. "And you don't need to worry about being experienced, Takashi. I'll take care of you."


	10. Unrequited?

For the first time in three days, Shiro woke up without Keith beside him in the bed. Which was... odd. All things considering, anyways.

It had taken him a good moment or so to wake up completely — his system was sluggish. Exhausted, really. Black had stirred him from his deeper slumber with her purring in his ears and her kneading paws on his shoulder, but he still tried to hold onto sleep the best he could. It wasn't until he recognized the familiar chill of his big empty bed that he fluttered his eyes open, and pushed up on his elbows. He gave a soft grumble, and reached a hand up to rub his face, only to find that a flash of a sharp ache shot through his muscles. Shiro winced and looked down at himself, wondering tiredly if the pain was from a fight or something...

And then something sparked in Shiro's groggy brain, and he remembered everything.

Everything.

Shiro gave what could have been an embarrassed squeak, both hands flying to his mouth to cover it up after the strangled yip of surprise. Slowly, he reached one of those hands down to peek underneath the covers — wondering if he could just pretend it was some really really good dream. He dropped the cover down once he confirmed he wasn't wearing any clothes, trying to ignore all of the marks scattered about his thighs and his waist — bruises he knew couldn't have come from any punch or any kick.

The memories of the night prior were fresh and vivid. Shiro didn't know whether that was good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, he had the image of Keith leaning over him — kissing his neck and his chest and curling his hands tightly into Shiro's bangs. All those sweet things Keith had murmured to Shiro. All those sweet things Keith did to him. It was all there and it was lovely but...

But on the other hand, Shiro didn't know if he was ever going to be able to see Keith the same again.

What did that mean? What did any of that mean? Shiro blew a long breath through his mouth sweeping his bangs back off of his forehead with one of his hands. It seemed to come out of nowhere... had Keith always felt like that about him? Did Shiro always... did Shiro always feel that way about Keith?

He had to find Keith and talk to him about it... about them. He needed to know if what happened the night before meant that they were... something. God, it was so complicated. Why did his first time have to be so complicated?

Shiro pushed up from the bed a little more, anxiously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He scoured the floor for clothes — only finding his own splayed out, tossed onto the floor without care or thought. Atlas was curled up by the fireplace, and Black was still sitting beside him on the bed, but Kosmo was nowhere to be seen. He stood, embarrassedly collecting his boxers and slipping them on. Shiro, after pulling on a pair sweatpants, made his way to the master bathroom to brush his teeth and splash his face with some water.

He cringed at his reflection — tired eyes, marked up neck and collarbone, bruises and love bites that would likely last him a week or so at best. He would have to cover up his neck and even his fucking jaw with makeup for a while so the press didn't get any ideas. Shiro, huffing a little, ducked down, turning on the faucet and splashing his face with cool sink water a few times before blindly groping for his toothbrush.

Shiro, face cleaned and teeth brushed, went back to his room to find a shirt. Atlas and Black both followed at his ankles as he left his bedroom to go downstairs, a strange sort of anxiety twisting in his gut as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. He wondered why Keith left the bed. Maybe he was hungry? After everything he did the night before... Shiro figured with a blush and a shiver that it wouldn't have been surprising if Keith needed something to eat.

"Hey, uh, Keith?" Shiro called once he made it to the bottom of the stairs. His voice was scratchy — Shiro blushed again at the thought, and cleared his throat. "You down here?"

"Yeah!" Keith called, in the kitchen with Kosmo. He had a sandwich in one hand and Kosmo was leapt up at him, both paws on his chest, sniffing at the hand that held the sandwich. He kept his eyes off of Shiro, focusing on Kosmo as he told him to sit, to get down, but Kosmo didn't listen. "I was just getting something to eat and I didn't want to wake you up. You don't normally get to sleep in so I didn't want to ruin that."

Keith wore yesterday's clothes, though the jacket was nowhere to be seen and it was all noticeably creased. He didn't seem to notice- or care- but it wasn't clear whether he felt more or less comfortable around Shiro today. The lacking jacket and the relaxed posture gave the impression that he was beginning to loosen up, to grow accustomed to vulnerability around Shiro. He also seemed to be lacking weapons, which was the first time he'd been comfortable without being armed in years. The way that he refused to maintain eye contact and the grit teeth, however, portrayed a different story.

And before Shiro could open his mouth, Keith spoke up.

"Look," he said, turning his attention fully to Shiro and staring at his shirt. He didn't want to meet his eyes. "Last night... I... I don't know what to say about it but I'm sorry. I was selfish. It was just sex, okay? I know you were going to ask but it was just physical. It shouldn't- and won't- be anything more than that. I'm sorry that I had to make your first time something so selfish but... I at least hope it was good."

Something sharp seemed to plunge into Shiro's gut. He didn't know why, but it was there -- stabbed into his stomach like a blade. The feeling left him quiet for a few moments, dazed the the residing sting that seemed to settled in his system as his mind combed through everything Keith had just said to him.

"Just sex?" Shiro echoed, blinking. It was only after he spoke when he realized how quiet his voice had gotten. Shiro pinched his eyes closed and shook his head, clearing his throat a little bit. He turned, and started for the fridge, head ducked. "Of course. Yeah -- I mean, I should have figured. We never... at least I didn't think we ever thought about each other like that anyways."

His tone grew more confident as he spoke, like he was slowly building up something with each denial. Something like a wall he supposed. "That's fine. It's fine," he assured, reaching for the carton of orange juice. "I should have known better than to let it happen. I was selfish too... I guess. Just, uh... with it being just sex and all... let's not ever do that again." He gave a soft sigh as he closed the refrigerator door, waiting a brief moment before turning around to face Keith with a fake smile. "I mean, I do sorta have a date tonight. That's gonna make things... awkward."

"Yeah," Keith said through a mouthful of sandwich, laughing a little. "Good luck with that. And yeah, I don't think it should happen again either. Glad we're, uh, in agreement."

 

He lifted his leg a little and managed, somehow, to press his foot against Kosmo's stomach to push him back. Kosmo let out a loud whimper of protest when he was forced back but settled on the floor after a moment to allow Keith to finish his sandwich.  
"I think I should go home today. You've got your date and I should check up on everything. The kitchen should be in better condition by now and I might even be able to clear up a bit. I want to start working on the living room soon, too, and the bathroom so... the faster I make progress, the faster it gets done, and all of that. Kosmo and I will head back as soon as his stubborn ass decides that he's going to let me put his helmet on."

 

He took the helmet from the counter and knelt down, about to put it on Kosmo- who backed down before turning and running off to hide behind the sofa.  
"So I could be here for as little as ten minutes or as long as ten hours."

Shiro nodded and turned around again to reach for a cup -- just hoping to keep his facial features hidden from Keith as his confused head worked everything out. He was adding it all together, coming to the dreadful conclusion that he had an impulsive one night stand with one of his very best friends, and he was the only one out of the two of them who cared at all about it. It made his stomach hurt again, his fist clenching a little around the cup he had gotten from the cabinet.

"Okay," he said, feigning indifference as he poured himself a cup of orange juice. "I need to finish up all of the work I didn't do last night so I think I'm going to go back upstairs. You can just leave whenever, I guess."

He hoped he didn't sound bitter -- he hoped his forced carelessness didn't grow too sharp. Shiro just wanted Keith to leave so he could figure everything out. Maybe he'd help him with Kosmo if he had to. Sure, he felt guilty, but the sooner he would be alone, the better it would be for the both of them.

Keith watched him for a few moments, sighing a little. He could tell that something about Shiro's indifference wasn't true. He could tell that something about this attitude was fake. He'd taken Shiro's virginity and then announced that there wasn't meant to be an emotional connection and that he was leaving. He'd expected hurt or anger or something but the neutral way he was dismissed just didn't feel right.  
"Alright," he said to Shiro, acting like his curiosity wasn't plaguing him to stop Shiro and ask about how he really felt. "Good luck with that. I'll, uh, text you when I get home so you know I haven't died on my deathtrap bike."

Shiro tried not to wince. He really wished Keith hadn't said that. "Thanks," he mumbled quietly. "Text me about how the kitchen looks too. Send pictures."

Taking the helmet, Keith began to where Kosmo was hiding so that he could trap him and force the helmet onto his head, his eyes flicking to Shiro, still stood in the same space. Still not looking at him. He could even see the way his shoulders bunched up with tension and had to refrain from taking it all back. It would be better this way. He'd had his fun, his selfishness, and fed his addiction for Shiro.

 

If he was going to kill Shiro, he wasn't going to be stupid enough to invest in any kind of a relationship.

Shiro stayed by the counter, not even attempting to follow through with his excuse to go upstairs and instead just waiting for Keith to go. Luckily, Keith had gotten the bulky helmet onto his stubborn dog's head in a matter of nearly seven minutes, and he was off in the next five -- calling Shiro a casual goodbye, so casual Shiro couldn't even hope to reciprocate it. He wished he was able to. He wished he could go downstairs with him and ask him to drive safely and act like the normal, protective, annoying person he was. But Shiro didn't even wave -- he just stared down into his full glass of orange juice, not really all that thirsty anymore.

Once the door had closed, and he was alone aside from the company of his cats, Shiro let out a breath he didn't even know he had been holding. He slumped his shoulders and hung his head a little, reaching a hand up to his temple. There were plenty of things he had to think about -- plenty of things he had to figure out. First, before anything, why Keith's casual nature had hurt him so bad. Second, of course, what the hell he was going to do about it. Third, how he was going to forget it to keep his relationship with Keith the way it was before.

Fourth, what he was going to do if Curtis noticed some of those hickeys somehow.

Shiro gave a soft groan of frustration and leaned his head up, chewing on the inside of his cheek again. He turned and started walking for the kitchen door... and then he turned again and started walking the other way. And then he walked towards the doorway. And then back. It was rare Shiro would pace -- normally he'd only get so stressed in matters regarding his job or his vigilante work.

His mind spun -- all of the emotions were all so loud in his confused system he almost felt like yelling about it. If only there was someone he could yell about it to. Keith, for very obvious reason as much as his heart hurt to say it, was off the table. Matt, as much as Shiro trusted him, wouldn't be a very good outlet. He could already hear Matt's voice teasing him. Telling him that Keith didn't care about Shiro. A playful 'I told you so' that would tear Shiro apart from the very core. There was one more option, of course...

But no. Shiro didn't want to bother him with such a trivial matter. Shiro also didn't really want to admit that he had been a virgin (before the night prior, of course).

Shiro stopped his pacing and brought both hands up to his face, grumblin incoherently to himself as he tipped his head up to the ceiling, eyes closed and brow furrowed. There was an ache festering deep in his stomach -- right where that stab wound had been. It was the same ache that always there in regards to Keith and Keith's indifference towards him... only it was stronger. No longer a tug or a prod but a full on problem.

All Shiro could think about were those things Keith had said to him while they were together -- all the little sweet nothings he whispered into Shiro's ear. Every intimate touch and every kiss on every scar. Shiro had never had anyone do such things to him before -- not even Adam had been so... so charming. Shiro hated to admit it took his breath away whenever he'd think of Keith's soft, heavy lidded eyes staring down so warmly at him.

Just sex. It was just sex, Shiro. He didn't care. You shouldn't care either.

He tried not to think about what Keith was probably doing or feeling right then and right there. Driving on his motorcycle with Kosmo. Barely remembering the night before at all -- barely thinking about Shiro at all. Shiro grit his teeth a little at the image, shaking his head.

Keith probably didn't even care enough to text him when he got home.

Keith was back home eight minutes after he'd left, releasing Kosmo and taking his phone from his pocket. Much to Shiro's surprised, Keith sent him a short "home" before he kicked off his shoes and whistled for Kosmo, who came bounding over and bolted inside as soon as his helmet was removed. Keith followed.

His kitchen had been finished- quicker than expected but he did pay a little more than necessary to get it done as soon as possible. It was now fitted with black and white checkered floor tiles, the main wall exposed brick and the rest painted black. The new oven that had been fitted was high quality, black to fit with the colour scheme but with white decor to match the white marble countertops and handles to the cabinets in the rest of the room. He had an island counter, too, which he didn't think would be clean for long but right now that wasn't the point.

The point was that now he had an actual kitchen with a working oven and actual storage. Now a quarter of his house was tidied and changed enough to fit his ideal standards. All that he had left to do was the living room, his room, his mom's room, and the bathroom. He wanted to get it done before his mom returned from active duty, which shouldn't be too long. Only a few more weeks and she'd be back.

He'd been wanting to surprise her with a tidy house for years now but was only just getting the funds to support that wish. It might not have been an ideal way of doing so but it was a job and it paid. Zarkon was going to send him proper money when he completed his next job- which would mark his tenth murder. Being paid for each murder at the date it was committed meant that he could drop out at any time with a pocketful of cash. Being paid after every ten meant that if he killed an eleventh he'd need to kill nine more to get a benefit for it.

He took out his phone again after a moment, when he realised Shiro hadn't texted him back, and sent a short 'U ok?' to check up on him. Just to show Shiro that he was still concerned about him and still did care about him, even if he'd said the opposite after they'd had sex.

'I'm fine. Sorry I didn't respond -- working. How's the kitchen look?"

Shiro gave a sigh and dropped his phone on the bed beside him, knowing he was about twenty-something minutes late to the second text and only responding out of his own guilt. He turned back to his laptop, and promptly returned to finishing up the last of all of the work he should have gotten done the night before. Shiro had gone straight to his laptop in his room after his mini crisis over Keith -- he figured that was the way to keep himself steady. To not think about anything but his job, with some vigilante work on the side. He assumed stressing himself out over how he felt about the Red Flame was better than stressing himself out over whatever it was he felt about Keith. At least there was a mission behind the better option. With the Flame it was his duty as the city's protector. With Keith... it was all just confusion.

He finished his essay and clicked over to the tab that showed him police scanners and such. They were running out of victims from the screenshots collected from the database Matt hacked -- there were maybe two or three names left of people who lived in state. The rest of the names were of richer folks that lived around the country, or even out of country and around the world -- leading Shiro to believe they were up against a rather big force. Of course, Shiro had the suspect list, and he knew he was on it... but all he could do was assume the names hadn't changed.

Unless...

Unless Shiro and Matt got their hands on another database. It wouldn't be too hard, he supposed. They would just have to track down a lower down footsoldier and get answers -- maybe a flash drive or a computer of some sort. Matt would do his hacking, they'd get more names and an updated list, and Shiro would be another few steps ahead of the Flame and his boss.

The plan in mind, Shiro reached for his phone again -- only to notice it had buzzed from another text from Keith.

Keith sent him a photo of the kitchen, answering Shiro's question, but when Shiro had gone twenty minutes without replying he'd sent him another text.

'Just say if u dont wanna talk to me'

Keith was in his room by then- his shithole bedroom- and had settled back on the bed while Kosmo explored the new kitchen to familiarise himself with it. He'd started talking to lance again a moment earlier, talking about selling some more things to get the money for the next renovation that he clearly wanted. Maybe Matt's earlier rude comments had kicked him into gear and convinced him to start changing his house. He could say it was done for his mom all he wanted- which was true, in a way- but he hated being seen as the 'emo basket case', as Matt frequently called him behind his back, who lived in a shithole house with no money and no way to support himself. He didn't like being seen as the kid that leeched off of Shiro. He didn't like that when he'd last been seen with Shiro in public every headline of every newspaper had been claiming that he was leeching or that Shiro was doing charity work for 'at risk' kids or that he was just some druggie teen who didn't even know Shiro.

But that wasn't important right now.

 

He was trying to focus on Shiro. Not on his own miserable life that read like a crappy reality tv show.

Shiro cringed heavily at Keith's message, wishing it wasn't true. He started to reply, but he paused just before he began to type, figuring if he responded right away to Keith's second, more guilt tripping sort of text, he'd think that Shiro really was ignoring him. Shiro watched the clock of his computer screen for nearly eight minutes before starting out his reply.

'No no don't worry. I'm just working on something right now. There was a lot I needed to do last night that I... didn't get to do. Kitchen looks nice tho! Can't wait to see it in person'

Was that too formal? Or not formal enough? Matt always made fun of him for texting like an old person, but other than that Shiro didn't really know his texting style all that well. He gave a soft sigh, anyways, and pressed send. He switched over to Matt's contact and promptly asked him to come over -- that he had some ideas for dealing with Red -- and then waited for a response from both as he leaned back in his bed a little bit, still watching the scanner on his laptop.

'You know to come over whenever' Keith replied after a few minutes, though he didn't like that Shiro suddenly seemed so distant. He'd usually reply in a heartbeat and no later and now this? Now he was just being almost entirely ignored? Was this because they'd slept together or because Keith had said it was purely physical? Or was it just a distracting work thing?

God, how he hated not knowing these things. He just wanted to know whether or not Shiro was actually willing to talk to him or not after what had happened the night before.

Keith replied before Matt did, so Shiro answered him back quickly -- faster than those twenty minute intervals anyways.

'Maybe tomorrow if I don't have too much work?'

Shiro frowned at the message, but he pressed send anyways, knowing it was a mistake. He didn't know how he would act around Keith -- he didn't know if the confusion would pass by then or just worsen... either way Shiro didn't really have a choice. Shiro couldn't just let his relationship with Keith falter like that -- not after so many years. No, Keith was too important to him. Sex or not. Feelings or not. Even if the care was one sided... Shiro couldn't just let him go.

To reiterate the point, Shiro added on another text, giving him no reason to back out.

'I could probably just stop by on my lunch break. Maybe I'll bring some kitchen-warming gifts you can put on the counters or something lol'

'Sounds good.' came Keith's text a few moments later, but that was it. It was an invite for Shiro to continue the conversation if he wanted to but it was an offer to drop it, too. Keith wasn't one for prolonged conversations but, even then, doing something as blunt as this was unlike him. He could usually carry conversations for hours when he was talking to Shiro.

He slid off of his bed, sighing a little and going to his grimy bathroom. He wanted a shower and he'd meant to have one at Shiro's but then he'd gotten peckish and gone to eat. That was when Shiro found him and that was when it all got so uncomfortable that he felt like he had no choice but to go home. He was going to get this remodelled next, instead of the living room. He might have been more capable of handling living in this shithole if the bathroom was in any kind of a good condition.

And he checked his phone to see if Shiro had replied yet, not knowing what made him so anxious.

Shiro hadn't. He took the offer to drop the conversation -- which was, of course, a wildly uncharacteristic move for him -- and in favor responded to Matt's text instead. He told Matt he would be working from home that day and to come by around lunch, and Matt had responded with simple k's and maybe a gif or two. After that, and one final glance at Keith's contact name, Shiro clicked his phone off and tossed it aside, pushing his laptop off of his legs so he could get up and shower.

There were still slight aches in pains in his muscles, and the hickeys on his neck and his chest and his thighs all stung a little when they were hit by the hot water of his shower, but Shiro ignored it all. He showered himself clean, forcing himself to wipe away any sort of feeling left over from Keith in the process, and then applied makeup to each hickey and each bruise after drying himself off -- making sure Matt wouldn't notice a thing. Before he knew it, he was just Shiro again. Dressed in handsome clothes. Covered up in handsome makeup. All walled up in a confident facade. When he checked his phone again, there were no notifications from any texts, which meant Keith didn't try and revive the conversation.

Shiro wasn't surprised. It was for the better anyways. For the time being, at least...

Keith had showered for fifteen minutes- half of it in hot water before the boiler gave out and the water turned bitterly cold. He left the shower and dried off, sighing a little when he tugged on some clean clothes and retrieved his phone. He wasn't surprised to see nothing from Shiro but was pleasantly surprised to see a text from Lance, who was saying he was willing to meet up and that he was looking forward to being allowed in now that the kitchen was 'habitable', as he'd called it.

He had a few valuable things that he wanted to sell- including the gold paperweight he'd pocketed from outside Zarkon's office that he was sure would be worth a ton. He'd been tempted to go back and talk to Zarkon just to steal some more ornaments but couldn't risk being that obvious about it. He'd just have to limit it to one or two stolen items a month.

 

Speaking of Zarkon, though, he'd been assigned a new mission that was marked as urgent. Needed to be completed by the weekend at the latest- tomorrow would have been ideal but Keith couldn't risk being so blatantly suspicious by leaving Shiro and then committing a crime the second that he was alone.

Although Shiro would be busy tonight and he did want to get it finished without interruptions. If he could get it done without the Black Paladin's appearance, he wouldn't be blamed for not killing him. That could give him three more potential missions- or at least a little lenience for this particular incident.

He'd mull it over and make his decision when Shiro would be on his date. There was no harm in giving himself a little time to think it over. Lance would be preparing everything for him either way.

Matt showed up right on time -- maybe thirty or forty minutes after Shiro had finished getting ready. He didn't seem to think anything out of the ordinary of Shiro; sure, he whistled at the getup and the makeup and asked in a joke if all that glamour was for him, but he didn't say anything that made it seem like he knew what Shiro did. Shiro, of course, knew there was no way Matt could have known -- he had even put his bedsheets in the wash and replaced them with new ones just incase Matt happened to go upstairs. There was still that sense of worry, though. A sense that Matt would notice something about him... that he would figure out that Shiro wasn't a virgin anymore...

He never did though.

They worked for a few hours, devising a plan. Connecting dots between suspect to suspect, trying to weed out the best guy to go for to try and get new information. With the last few facts Matt had left from the previous database, they knew that Red had a mission coming up in maybe a week or so, but that didn't mean they knew about his newer jobs he could have gotten after the screenshots were taken. There was still plenty of room to be taken by surprise, and neither of them liked that. Despite the prior fact, however, Matt took Shiro's phone and deleted the news apps, claiming it was for the night only.

 

Shiro had a date. Matt didn't want him to waste it on his phone, hunting for a villian that hadn't shown his face in days.

Matt left about a half hour before Shiro would have to drive off and go pick Curtis up, promising he wouldn't call unless it was a complete emergency. Of course, before he slipped through the door, he told Shiro in a childish snicker to use protection, leaving Shiro in an ironic silence after he closed the door behind him. Shiro checked his phone periodically as he waited for his own cue to leave, watching the texts as well as the time. A message from Curtis telling him his address and how he was looking forwards for the night out. A message from one of his coworkers about some data Shiro would ignore until the next day. A gif from Matt of a kid playing Careless Whisper on a saxophone.

Nothing from Keith.

Nothing because he'd been working on his upcoming mission and trying to figure out how to schedule it. How to get to where he needed to be without it being too noticeable and considering putting it off so he didn't end up ruining Shiro's date- no matter how badly he might have secretly wanted to.

He was already in his suit, his phone to his ear, talking to Lance about how little he understood everything and how he was getting sick of being sent on so many jobs without earning a penny. Lance told him just to wait, that it would be a little longer, but that didn't stop Keith from being frustrated.

 

By the time Shiro was going to be leaving to go to Curtis' house, Keith was getting onto his bike so that he could start en route to his next victims house. He didn't have any information and wasn't provided with a file of information- which was infuriating to say the least- but he didn't have any choice but to go through with it. He'd find out everything he needed to know when he arrived. Lance told him that the cans of gasoline were already inside, too, located within two metres of the front door to the house though there apparently wasn't any exact location it could be pinpointed to.

Matches in his pocket and determination glinting in his masked eyes, Keith knew what he had to do and set off to do it.

Shiro was at Curtis's house exactly when he said he would be. Five-thirty -- on the dot. He needed the schedule; the excuse for a distraction. Those thirty minutes between when Matt left and when Shiro took off for Curtis had been hell for his thoughts simply because there was nothing to do. Nothing to think about but Keith. Keith was in his head -- Keith was in the air he breathed. In the blood that pumped through his veins. His heartbeat was like a repeating mantra of his name...

It was because Shiro wanted more, wasn't it?

That was when he left, not letting himself dwell on it all alone any longer. He drove to Curtis's house -- a handsome home just outside the city, one with a great property in a great, rich neighborhood -- with loud music blasting through his quality speakers to drown out his own head. Yet another uncharacteristic move; Shiro liked to drive with as little to know distraction as possible. He pulled up to the gates of Curtis's house, buzzed himself in, and then drove all the way up to the garage, shooting him a text that he was outside. He had turned the music down by the time Curtis had gotten outside and then into the car, dressed in a sleek black outfit that normally would have left the butterflies in Shiro's stomach fluttering.

They didn't seem to want to flutter anymore. They were satisfied with something else.

"You look nice," Shiro had said, starting up the car again once Curtis had clicked himself in, keeping up a good act.

Curtis smiled at him. He had such a pretty smile -- handsome lips curling up into a dashing little grin, those beautiful pale eyes sparkling in the early evening light. Shiro recognized that pretty smile, but again, the butterflies were silent.

"Thank you, Shiro," he said, nudging Shiro's arm a bit with his elbow. "You look great, too. And you're right on time... in a hurry to see me?"

Something in Shiro clenched with guilt, but he presented a smirk anyways. "Something like that," he hummed, revving up the engine a little before starting off to the restaurant.

It was a lovely night -- it really, really was... Shiro had no right to deny that. They were on the higher floor of the restaurant, higher up by the clear glass windows, overlooking the glittering lights of Voltropolis; the city twinkling just perfectly in their peripherals as they spoke to one another. They clicked, of course. They spoke and they laughed and the smiled with one another. The food was great. The atmosphere greater. It was a lovely dinner. A lovely night. A lovely date...

But Shiro wasn't satisfied.

He wasn't satisfied because every time Curtis laughed, Shiro thought of Keith's laugh. He wasn't satisfied because every time he said something, he wondered how Keith would react if it was him sitting there. He wasn't satisfied because when Curtis settled his hand on top of Shiro's, he felt the warmth and immediately compared it to the warmth of Keith's hand. He wasn't satisfied because when Curtis leaned in and asked for a kiss when they had gotten back to the car, Shiro wondered why Keith didn't ask. When they were kissing, Shiro tried to remember if Keith kissed him that way. With more or less passion. With more or less touching. He wasn't satisfied because when he dropped Curtis off at his house, and Curtis told him that he was so glad they had gone out and that the night meant everything to him, Shiro couldn't help but hurt at the idea his night with Keith had been so utterly oxymoronic it was almost humorous. He wasn't satisfied because when he got to his own home, it was just him and his cats. Because when he got in bed, it was big and cold and lonely still.

He wasn't satisfied because he didn't dream of Curtis. He dreamed of Keith.

It was like he had gotten a taste of greatness. Nothing else could amount to how Keith made Shiro feel that night prior... not a kiss or longing stare from Curtis, as cute and as funny and as loyal as he was. No... no Shiro could never be satisfied -- not after what Keith gave to him and what he promptly ripped away.

Why it had taken him so long to realize what he craved was a mystery. Was it because he didn't know what it was to be so vulnerable around someone, or was it deeper? Did Shiro just never realize what he felt for Keith because he didn't even know what true want even was? What it felt like? That ache always meant something... didn't it? And after that night... that night of soft stares and intimate kisses and whispered promises... Shiro didn't know what to do. He had that taste, and he was addicted. He wouldn't be satisfied ever again unless it was Keith...

And Keith didn't want him.


	11. Complicated

"He kissed you?"

Matt was damn near squealing with excitement -- as if he'd been possessed by the spirit of a teenage girl. He had a bright, wide smile on his face the whole time Shiro had been describing his date with Curtis, but the second Shiro mentioned anything about a kiss, his excitement seemed to up a hundred percent. He even reached over and gave Shiro a friendly punch on the shoulder, which was a well-known 'no-no' if Shiro was ever driving. They were stopped at a red light, though, so Shiro only offered him a glare from the driver's seat for it.

"Yes," Shiro said, sighing a little as he turned his attention back to the stoplight -- watching for green. "After we got out of the restaurant."

Matt gave an excited laugh. "Was he good? Was he a good kisser?"

Shiro hesitated a moment or so. "Yeah... I mean it felt good," he lied.

Well... was it a lie? It felt good of course but... it just didn't feel as good as Keith's kiss did.

"Did you do anything else? Did he reach second base?"

Shiro promptly blushed, blinking his eyes hard -- trying to force Keith out of his head, especially after those questions. "He might have put his hand on my hip or something..."

Matt gave a snicker. "And let me guess: being the virgin and all, you freaked out and put a stop to it?" Matt's voice was smooth and oily with his sarcastic teasing.

"Yeah. Sort of," Shiro answered very quickly, watching the light go green and pressing his foot down upon the gas pedal. He tried to clear his head a little, focusing back on the road and not on the conversation at hand.

They were going to see Keith, actually. Of course, Keith didn't know that Matt was coming along with Shiro -- it was never in any of the plans they texted out or discussed -- but Shiro, as guilty as he was for bringing an unexpected plus one, didn't think he could just go alone. He knew that the second he had woken up with a heavy start and a rather red face, the flashes of his dream about Keith still rather vivid in his system. Shiro would need someone as a buffer -- and being as loud and as exciting as he was, Matt was the perfect buffer. He picked Matt up on his lunch break, shot Keith a text that he was on his way, and then he headed out. There were sandwiches in the back seat from the deli, all wrapped up in yellow paper. Shiro had also gotten chips and soda too -- seltzer water for himself. He had also gotten Keith a knife block for his counter, which came with plenty of kitchen knives and even a knife sharpener. It was an expensive gift, sure, but Shiro didn't know what else to do.

He always got Keith expensive things anyways, and he was trying to act normal, wasn't he?

The drive, even with Matt's annoying gushing, was short. They were only about seven minutes away around the time Matt found out about the kiss, anyways, and the traffic wasn't too bad. Before he knew it, gravel was popping beneath his car tires and Keith's little house grew closer as they rolled up his short driveway. Shiro told Matt to grab the food while he grabbed Keith's 'kitchen-warming' gift, which was settled in a little red gift bag, and then they walked up to his front door. He ignored the broken doorbell and leaned in to knock on the rough wood of Keith's front door, stepping back on the cement steps of his porch.

The door opened after a few moments and Kosmo came dashing out, jumping up at the two of them and barking, his paws settling on Shiro's stomach as he leant up and kissed him as much as he could. After a few moments, though, his attention fixed on Matt and he turned to attack him instead. Keith stood in the doorway, smiling at Shiro- before he noticed who was stood behind him.  
"Really?" he asked Shiro, but stepped aside nonetheless and waited for them both to enter. "I mean, hey, welcome. It's good to see one of you."

He sighed a little, rubbing his face and moving to the kitchen, pushing up onto a bar stool by the breakfast island. "Set your stuff down wherever and make yourselves at home. Feel free to confine yourself to the kitchen if you think that the rest of my house is too much of a shithole for your standards," Keith told Matt, his eyes burning with some unmentioned hatred. Matt gave him a funny look, but he didn't comment. Keith turned his attention to Shiro- hesitating and frowning when he saw the bag in his hands, obviously a present. "What's that? I thought you were just kidding with getting me a gift for the kitchen. I mean- thanks- but what is it?"

Shiro, a little put off by the ill feelings and tones regarding Matt, shrugged his shoulders a little. He offered a meager little smile, and held up the bag. "You know me," he said, trying to stay as normal as humanly possible with Matt in the room. "I like giving presents. Just go ahead and open it."

He watched as Keith begrudgingly took the present from his hand, pretending he didn't feel that jolt of electricity rush through his fingertips at the very chaste touch of their hands. Shiro flicked his eyes down after that, clearing his throat a little and moving back -- standing beside Matt as though he'd been his safety net. As though he was his tether. Matt seemed to instantly recognize the tactic, but he took it as Shiro being anxious for some reason. Whatever it was, he scooted wordlessly closer.

"It's a 'kitchen-warming' present," Matt said, tone chipper and brighter as though Keith hadn't been a bit sharp to him before. "You need it, obviously. Open it up -- I helped him pick it out."

Shiro rolled his eyes. "He did not, actually," he corrected, smiling a little. Matt elbowed him and Shiro smirked some more, a little more comfortable with Matt's teasing easing up the atmosphere a little.

Keith reached out, taking the bag and pulling out the block that Shiro had gotten him, then the knives, and then the knife sharpening block. He studied them for a few moments before he slid off of his chair and moved to set them by the oven, by a black cutting board, putting the knives into their own holders and pressing the block against the wall beside it.

 

They looked neat, pressed up there, and he really appreciated Shiro's gift even if he wouldn't usually accept it.  
"Thanks, man. It's nothing huge for you but... it's a nice gift," he said, shrugging a little, his eyes landing on Shiro- who was beaming as if Keith had asked to marry him. "I wouldn't normally accept it and I don't expect, or want, a gift for every room that I renovate but I really appreciate this. Come on, you brought food, let's eat."

He didn't want the conversation to be fixed on him for much longer.

Shiro nodded, quick to listen. He told Matt to set the food down on Keith's island, each of them settling in the three stools as Matt unwrapped each of the subs. Shiro knew everyone's favorite by memory -- he knew Matt only like Italian, and he knew Keith only liked roast beef with a little bit of lettuce and tomato. Shiro just settled with a lettuce wrap, like always, quietly jealous of Matt's salt and vinegar chips as he ate his healthy alternative.

As they all ate, Shiro secretly studied Keith from his peripheral. He wasn't sitting next to Keith, of course, he had Matt sit in the middle -- but that didn't mean he could still watch him closely when he wasn't looking. Shiro liked the way his hair looked, tangled and unbrushed but charming as the long locks fell over his forehead and past his jaw. The way his lips looked when they smiled at whatever Shiro would say. The way his eyes rolled whenever Matt would say literally anything. The way his eyes looked whenever he would lean back and look at Shiro -- even if Shiro had averted his stare, he could still see for at least that flash of a second how pretty they were.

Matt reached a hand up and patted Shiro's shoulder, disrupting him from his thoughts about Keith. "Guess who got lucky last night," Matt hummed triumphantly, giving Shiro a little shake.

Shiro's face flushed a brilliant red, and he shook his head. "I didn't get lucky," he said earnestly, knowing what the phrase meant. "It was just a kiss. Really."

"Curtis got to second base," Matt snickered, giving Keith a slick sort of grin.

Shiro gave a groan, lifting a hand to rub his eyes. "All he did was touch my waist. I don't have boobs -- he couldn't have gotten to second base."

The comment inspired a heavy snort from Matt, and he giggled some more, elbowing Shiro in the arm. "Have you seen yourself, Shiro?"

"You have got pretty big boobs," Keith commented through a mouthful of food, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "But that's a pretty big step for you, Shiro. You've never done anything like that before. Was it intimidating?" he grinned through his mouthful- something Matt would perceive to be because of the comment he'd made but something Shiro would know was because they'd had sex and he was blatantly lying about it. "Did he try and take it further? Invite you in?"

 

Keith moved to sit up, pushing Kosmo off of the island when he, again, tried to get up and get to the sandwiches they ate. He liked how embarrassed Shiro got when it came to these questions but the look in his eyes when Keith acted like nothing had happened between them... he had to admit that that stung a little. It stirred guilt in his stomach- but he ignored it and moved on.

Shiro almost wanted to cringe at the casual tone of Keith's voice, but all he managed to convey was another blush as he turned his eyes down at the counter before him, trying to stuff down the flush of hurt Keith's comment had inspired from him. "No... I told him I had to get home before he could suggest anything," Shiro said, reaching down for some of Matt's chips, figuring a few wouldn't hurt in his bitter sort of mindset. That flush of discomfort had been changing somehow inside of Shiro, becoming less of a quiet pain and more of an angry burn. He let the feeling get to him as he muttered out his next little comment.

"I didn't want my first time to be something meaningless. It's supposed to be special, isn't it?"

He didn't look up to see how the comment affected Keith, even though he knew he had probably said too much. Instead he reached his hand into his coat pocket for his phone, desperately searching for a distraction.

Matt dropped his sandwich beside him. "You told Keith you were a virgin?" he asked, oblivious to the tension in the room.

Shiro nodded as he opened up his phone with his thumbprint. "He figured it out. It's apparently pretty obvious." His tone wasn't as bitter as before, but there was still an odd sort of shift. Shiro tried to ignore the way Matt furrowed his brow at the response. Keith rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah, only from every fucking thing about you."

Keith fell silent after his comment, clearly excluding himself from this and letting Kosmo jump up at the island to start trying to steal Matt's sandwich from him, sniffing at it and sniffing his mouth as if he'd be able to get the food he'd already eaten. He whined, his tail between his legs, one paw on Matt's stomach and applying more pressure. Normally Keith would laugh or encourage Kosmo or do anything but instead he pushed up from his seat, snatched his soda and started through to his room to eat there instead. He couldn't handle being in the room with Shiro for another moment after he pulled that. Usually he wouldn't have been so upset by it- not when he'd quite clearly started it- but suddenly it was totally different.

He didn't care about how badly he deserved it. He didn't care about how fair it was for Shiro to treat him this way.

 

He suddenly couldn't wait to kill him.

Matt, eyes wide and brow furrowed, turned to Shiro after watching Keith stalk off. "What was that all about?" he asked, leaning forwards a little. "Are you two mad at each other or something? Is everything alright?"

Shiro didn't answer. His eyes were trained upon the news app of his phone, a new sort of guilty anger consuming him at the headline his gaze was focused on. When Shiro didn't answer, Matt asked him what had been wrong. When Shiro still didn't answer, Matt leaned over to get a good look at whatever he'd been so focused on. When he read it, Matt overed out a heavy swear and leaned back, a hand settling over his mouth.

"Shit," he murmured. "How did we miss that?"

Shiro didn't know.

All he knew was that the second he had looked down at his news app, something he hadn't checked all night and all day due to his obsession with Keith, every headline had been about another fire. Another murder. Another person dead.

Another mistake from Shiro.

"We should go," Shiro muttered, pushing to his feet. He shoved his phone into his pocket, gathered up the trash from his food, and tossed it into the trash can -- every movement and every action bitter and tense. He grabbed his keys from the counter, and started to the door, only pausing when he settled his hand on the cool doorknob of Keith's front door.

He hesitated before saying goodbye, wondering if it was even the right thing to do.

"Something came up at work, Keith," he called the the bedroom. "We have to go. I'll text you."

And with that, he left, a very confused Matt following on his heels.

Keith didn't say anything in response, sighing a little, knowing that Shiro had seen the article. A text came through. Zarkon, telling him that he had two weeks to kill the Black Paladin or he was going to be 'terminated', as it was put, leaving it up to Keith's imagination whether that meant fired or murdered.

 

Hopefully he wouldn't find out which he meant.

~~~

"I think I found something."

Shiro, who had been hunched over his laptop, leaned up to look at Matt, studying the way his tired, red-rimmed eyes flicked back and forth across his own computer monitor. He pushed his computer off of his lap and to the side, setting it on the couch as he scooched a bit closer to look over Matt's shoulders, blinking some of the groggy blur from his eyes so he could focus on Matt's screen.

"What is it?" Shiro asked drearily.

It was the sixth time that night they had such an exchange -- Matt declaring that he was onto something, Shiro leaning over and asking what it had been, and then Matt figuring out it was nothing. They had been studying Matt's screenshots of the server for any last straggling clues or hints that would lead them to a new source of information, and as minutes bled into hours and hours bled into a whole day and a half, Shiro became more and more discouraged. Just then he waited with a sense of dismal hopelessness for Matt to say 'nevermind' and comment on how it had just been an odd glitch.

Matt lifted a finger and poked at some code in the bottom left corner of the screen. It was code he had been studying for the past two and a half hours. Every digit was simply burned into his brain.

"I think I've figured out what this means," he said, taking a sip of his coffee with his free hand. Shiro had gone out to get it just thirty minutes ago -- they were running on maybe forty-five minutes of sleep, so coffee runs were rather important. "It looks like some random drabble of code, but if I put it through this." Matt paused so he could switch tabs to one of his self-made decoder websites, typing in the code and pressing enter. The screen lit up with numbers and letters as it worked out all the possible meanings of Matt's random code, causing Shiro's sleep deprived brain to hurt a bit.

"Then it just becomes more random code?" Shiro asked bleakly, giving Matt a judging sort of side-eye. "I thought we tried this already."

Matt shook his head, waiting for his decoder to finish, all of the flashing numbers and letters slowing down as everything was pieced apart and put back together again. "We tried it, but after I did it ten more times I noticed something," he mumbled, trailing his finger around in circles as if he was in search for something. Matt seemed to find it after a few moments, and jabbed it finger into the screen with a gentle clack. "Right there. That strand. It isn't some random code or computer generated gibberish. It's an address."

Shiro cocked his head. "An address for what? Like a house address?" he asked, a little more interested than before.

"No, Shiro, not like a house address," Matt responded, tone a little sharp with mocking. When Shiro gave him a look for it, Matt raised up his hand and shook his head a little. "Sorry, sorry. I'm tired. But no, it's a web address. And watch what happens when I run it through here." Matt switched to another tab, and ran the new strand of code through another system. That time, it took maybe five seconds before a single link appeared on the screen beneath the generator. "I can't just put it in a regular search bar because it's a really dangerous link, but when I put it through here and click on what comes up, I'm taken to this tab."

Matt clicked and the screen went black. After a moment or so, deep purple text began writing itself across the screen. Shiro watched for some sign of fear from Matt, but judging by the unsurprised and rather concentrated look on his friend's features, he figured that was what he had expected. When he flicked his gaze back onto Matt's monitor, he noticed that the purple text had arranged itself into a sort of list. Every line expressed some sort of place -- real addresses of real homes and apartments and buildings, all of which scattered all about the country. All about the world even, Shiro came to learn as Matt scrolled further down the page. His eyes grew wide as location after location was typed out from the mechanical generator, some of the irritated grogginess leaving his system as he leaned forwards.

"What are they?" he asked, inawed.

Matt, once the screen had been done typing out its list, scrolled to the very bottom and tapped on the last line of the page, turning to look at Shiro with a rather tired smirk splayed about his features. "Something to do with a group called the 'Galra'," he said. "Do you know anything about them?"

Shiro's eyes followed Matt's finger, reading the simple little concluding line before he properly processed what Matt had asked him. "Galra..." he mumbled in an echo, the name sparking some memory inside of him -- memories that seemed to inspire chills to crawl over the flesh of his back. Shiro nodded. "I have a friend who told me some things about them. And Allura has some files with their names -- I saw them all back when we first hacked into the police systems. I'm pretty sure she thinks that her father was tied up with them or something..."

"Well, that would fucking suck. For you at least, all things considering," Matt muttered back, rather bluntly. Shiro gave him another look, but Matt didn't justify himself with his own exhaustion that time. "I mean, he died real bad. If it was the Galra that did it, then they probably wouldn't take too kindly to you either. You both are vigilantes... well Alfor was a vigilante -- but you get the idea..."

Shiro rolled his eyes, but he couldn't shake the gentle feeling of dread that turned in his stomach at Matt's blunt statements. "Well, Alfor messed up," he said studying the list on Matt's screen. "And he was stupid enough to lose connection with the guy in his ear telling him what to do and how to do it. As annoying as you are, I'm not dumb enough to not bring you along on missions."

"Are you sure you're not dumb enough? You're pretty stupid," Matt teased, elbowing him a little bit.

"Shut up," Shiro snickered back. "But really though, what do you think all of this means?"

Matt gave a shrug of his shoulders. "They could be potential victims, suspects, safe houses, storage places, meet-up spots-"

"Do you think we might be able to find another way into the servers from one of them?" Shiro asked, a new wave of energy shooting through him at the idea. The sudden interest was apparent through the conviction of his tone. "There were plenty of places in Voltropolis -- it seems like our city might be the heart of the operation."

"I... I mean yeah, but... don't you think that's a little dangerous?" Matt looked up at Shiro, offering a gentle frown and a cock of his head. "We don't know what these places are or who is inside of them. What if we run into big trouble?"

Shiro shrugged. "I can handle big trouble," he said with a smile and a wink, much happier than he was before as he scooted back to his spot on the couch. "We'll scout before I go in. Make sure it's safe. If it isn't, I won't go in -- but I'm sure I can handle a couple of foot soldiers and guard dogs, Matt."

Matt hesitated a long moment or so, turning his eyes back to the screen. He was quiet -- too thoughtful for his own good, Shiro figured -- but just as Shiro parted his lips to tell Matt everything would be fine, Matt offered a shrug of his shoulders and a nod of his head.

"I'll text you pictures of the list and we can decide which place in Voltropolis is best for looting," he said, still nodding. Matt reached into his back pocket, and pulled his phone out, snapping pictures of his monitor with it. "Taking screenshots are too risky, and sharing the link is even worse. They might be able to trace back -- I'm going to have to clean my poor baby." He gave a pout and a soft pat of his laptop. "She probably got millions of viruses from this stupid link."

Shiro gave him a frown, but reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder nonetheless. "Sorry, Matt," he said, sincere, but still happy with what they had found. "But this is... this is amazing. We might really have a chance at stopping Red with this."

Matt gave him a smile, before exiting out of all his tabs and closing his computer. "Yeah, yeah, you can call me a genius and all later," he said, yawning into his fist. Matt shuffled a little closer to Shiro on the bed, wordlessly curling up against him and settling his head down on Shiro's chest. "But first, we sleep. It's two in the morning, and we've been at this since we left Keith's house nearly two days ago. You even skipped work for it -- we need a Goddamn break."

Shiro laughed a little, laying his arm over Matt's shoulder and hugging him close. "Yeah, yeah," he sighed, laying his head on the backrest and settling his eyes closed. "You sure you don't want to go up to my room? I'm sure my bed is more comfortable than the couch."

Matt shook his head. "Couch is fine," he grumbled. "Your boobs are good enough pillows anyways..."

"But I don't have any boobs to lay my head on," Shiro argued with a playful sort of pout.

"Too bad."

Shiro only gave a light snicker at that, shaking his head a little before relaxing. It was easy to fall asleep after so many restless hours of working himself into the ground.

He didn't even think about Keith once.

Keith, who was just leaving Zarkon's office, had been brought there to be scolded once more at the lacking murder of the Black Paladin he'd been waiting for.

After defending himself for almost an hour, he'd started on his way out and checked his phone. A text from Lance that he'd gotten while he was in the meeting but nothing from Shiro. He sighed, wiping his eyes, frustrated and sleep deprived and getting really damn sick of being picked apart of every little mistake. He took a few valuables on his way out this time solely out of spite, as if that would affect Zarkon at all. Whatever made him sleep better, apparently.

 

He took out his phone as he was leaving, texting Lance for a lift back as he'd not wanted to risk leaving his motorcycle somewhere out here. Not with these fucking psychos who would tear it apart if they wanted to without batting a damn eyelid. Lance texted him after a few minutes that he'd be on his way and would be there in five minutes.

To pass the time, Keith leant against the wall and sent Shiro a text.  
"U ok?" he sent, leaving it simple and direct to avoid having Shiro think he was incredibly concerned. Not after their last argument. But, as expected, he didn't get a response, not knowing that Shiro had just retired to sleep. He couldn't blame him. It was 2am- the only reason Keith wasn't in bed and trying to sleep was because Zarkon had called him in for an urgent meeting.

After however long of waiting for a text, he slumped into the passenger side of Lance's car and waited until they were moving to take his smuggled goods from his jacket pockets.  
"More shit for you to sell," he told Lance, kicking them into the footwell. "You can give me my money later. I'm about to start getting someone to work on my bathroom at my house so... I'd like the money soon to pay for it fully and upfront. It's not like I've got good enough credit to be trusted with a fucking credit card, anyway, but you get what I mean. I might even be able to invite you over when I don't live in such a shithole."

Lance didn't glance at him.  
"I wouldn't want that," he murmured. "Your boyfriend was asking about you the other day. Seemed really damn surprised that Katie I knew who you were."  
"Puppy isn't my boyfriend! But- yeah, he told me about that too. And apparently about Katie and Hunk, too, cuz I'm definitely friends with them and have seen their faces instead of just hearing you call them Green and Yellow. But it's whatever."

Lance let out a dry little laugh and started to speed up, clearly wanting to get Keith out of his car as soon as possible.  
"Any chance of seeing Kosmo today?" he asked, frowning a little, changing the topic without warning. Keith got the hint, shrugging a little.

"If he's up for it," he murmured. "But seriously, I can't believe I let you talk me into naming my dog Kosmo. It's such a dumb name and I'm pretty sure that he hates it."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Bitches love me."  
"Kosmo's not a bitch," Keith argued. "And I don't think anyone loves you. Come on, get me home."

It took them only a few more minutes to end up back at Keith's house and when Lance was done fawning over Kosmo, Keith called him inside and settled at the kitchen, making himself a slice of toast to eat before he went to bed.

Keith found a letter on the floor by the door, having been trampled on a lot by Kosmo as the day went back, and opened it. It was from his mom, of course it was- it had been almost six months since her last letter. It read the same as usual with her heavily censored letters.

I love you, stay safe, etcetera. She'd left a note about hoping Shiro was taking care of him, that he was letting him. That he hoped Keith had a job and was coping on his own. That she'd be back as soon as she could. He read it a few times over and bit back the tears that welled up in his eyes, grumbling a little as he wiped them on his sleeve. Few things set him over the edge like this and actually pushed him to cry but... god, these letters always made him cry. He hated to think about it but he missed her. He hated having her gone all the time- but she'd promised him that after this she was going to find work somewhere else so she could stay with him. It wouldn't be too long now. Hopefully he'd have quit his vigilante work by then.

He sighed a little and wiped his eyes, gripping the letter as if it was the only connection he still had to his mom. Like there weren't a couple dozen other letters written out almost exactly the same. Like he wasn't going to have her back in just a couple months at the most.

He sent Shiro a picture of the letter before he retired to bed, pinning the letter to the inside of his bedroom door with all the rest. He and Kosmo curled up together, Kosmo asleep in minutes and Keith just lying there with his face pressed into Kosmo's comforting fur. He could try to get some sleep but he doubted he'd actually be able to. Not with thoughts of his mom on his mind and worry for Shiro still lingering. They hadn't talked properly after Shiro had left for that 'work business'.

~~~

Shiro, unsurprisingly, woke up before Matt did. His internal clock normally would never let him sleep past eight in the morning, which wasn't including all the times he would fall asleep after a hard fight or a rough work day. For some reason, even after his near twenty four hours of studying random jumbles of numbers and letters, he had fluttered his eyes open somewhere between eight and eight thirty -- feeling groggier than he had in a long while.

He pushed up from the sofa, gently easing Matt down on the couch cushions as he slipped from beneath his friend's cuddly hold. Shiro, as if in apology, pulled a blanket up to Matt's chin, and then took his glasses off of his face before setting them down on the coffee table -- he supposed Matt had forgotten about them the night before. With a yawn, and a tired rub of his puffy eyes, Shiro patted his pocket for his cellphone to check for work calls or texts from Curtis. He pulled his phone out, clicked it on, and squinted at the bright screen, noting all of the email notifications as he scrolled down the list.

At the very bottom was a text from Keith.

Shiro grimaced a little, remembering the short little 'U ok?' he had ignored in favor for his vigilante work with a sharp pinch of guilt. After a moment or so of tired yet nervous hesitation, Shiro tapped onto the new text -- which had been a photo of some kind -- and opened up his phone. He clicked the photo, narrowed his sleepy eyes some more, and studied the picture Keith had sent him while a hungry Atlas rubbed her head into his legs below.

The second Shiro realized what the picture had been, he felt his system swell with cold, suffocating shame.

He didn't even wait a second before tapping onto Keith's contact information and then pressing the green little call button. Shiro never did wait when it came to letters from Keith's mom -- as little as Keith let Shiro know about his life and his problems, Shiro knew for a fact how much Keith missed her. How could he not know? It was the only thing in his rough life Keith would ever let Shiro help with. He had even cried to Shiro once about her -- about how he missed her and about how it wasn't fair. It only ever happened once, and Shiro was fairly sure it was only because Keith had a few drinks before showing up at Shiro's door, but Shiro would never forget the way Keith cried.

Never.

The phone rang about five times before Shiro heard the click of an answer -- he had actually been worried Keith wouldn't answer. Though the second he did, hushed words had already been rushing from Shiro's mouth, quiet as to keep from waking Matt.

On the other end of the line, Keith was exhausted. He hadn't fallen asleep for more than a few seconds at a time and when he finally thought he might have been able to sleep properly, Kosmo had heard some barking outside and suddenly jumped to life, kicking away from him and running to the door to bark back for forty-five minutes. Needless to say... Keith had plenty of reasons to be tired.

When he answered the phone and was met with Shiro's voice, it only seemed to get worse. He brought the phone to his ear, sighing as he heard Shiro's concerned voice coming through.

"Keith- I'm sorry I never answered I was asleep," he said, only half lying. "Are... are you okay? Is everything okay? Do you want me to come over?"  
"It's not a big deal," he'd murmured tiredly to Shiro, though it had been when he first got the letter and didn't think Shiro was responding out of spite- before he assumed he was asleep and decided to go to bed. "It's really just... it's not a huge thing. Don't worry about it. If you've got work or something then you don't need to come over. You're always busy lately so I wouldn't be surprised."

Shiro gave a gentle cringe at that last bit, an ocean of guilt drowning out any previous awkwardness or anger he could have harbored towards his friend. "Keith... I... I'm sure I could make an exception if you really need me," Shiro said, his voice growing softer. He eased down, sitting on the edge of the coffee table, Atlas still rubbing herself about his calves -- meowing for his attention. "Besides, we-... I found a way to get over a really big problem. If I can take care of him- it I mean-" Shiro cut himself off, mentally kicking himself for the slight slip up. God he must have been tired. "If I can take care of it properly in the next couple days or so, I'll be a hell of a lot less busy. I might be able to even come over and help with the house... I'm not really good at painting but I've got heavy lifting in the bag."

He leaned back a little, liking how casual he had been all of a sudden... sort of like his old self. It gave him hope things could have gone back to normal -- even if the situation that drew that old attitude from him was rather depressing. Of course there was no denying the slight twist in Shiro's heart whenever he would hear Keith's tired, husky voice over the speaker of his phone but... he could deal with it. Stuff the longing away. Stuff the pining away.

Shiro had unconsciously dealt with that ache for what had to be years by then. He was starting to realize it was nothing new.

"No matter what I have on my plate, Keith, you come first," Shiro promised, sighing a little. "You and Matt. If you ever need me, even if you think I'm busy, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Fine," Keith mumbled, giving in to Shiro's pleading little demand. "Pick up something for me for breakfast on your way over, though. I'm starved and I'm exhausted so I don't want to take the risk of cooking something for myself. I'll either end up poisoning myself and starting a fire and... neither of them are ideal." He pushed himself to sit up, earning a grumbling howl from Kosmo, who didn't want to move. "I'll see you whenever you get here. Drive safe, don't do anything dumb."

He didn't want to prolong the uncomfortable conversation any longer, hanging up, figuring that if Shiro was serious about helping out with his house then they could talk about it when he came over, whenever that may have been.

 

He also decided against the comment about the 'business' to deal with over the next few days that was blatantly about him as the Red Flame.

 

He called Kosmo through and served him breakfast, sending Lance a text to ask about whether or not the trinkets had been sold yet, and cleaning up a little from the toast he'd had this morning while he waited for Shiro. He could be as bitter as he wanted about every little detail of this situation but he liked that he could always rely on Shiro. He'd never had anyone else that he could trust so much so it was reassuring to have Shiro to talk to and depend on. Especially when Shiro was still coming and supporting him regardless of the tension between them.

Shiro was quick to leave after that -- all he really had to do was shower and get dressed. There was no hair and makeup routine to cover up his dark bags or straighten out his messy, quite overgrown hair -- including a bit of stubble that was beginning to present him with a very faint five o'clock shadow. There was no fancy suit or dress jacket, just black jeans and a worn sweatshirt, something he normally wouldn't be caught dead in public wearing. There was no gracious goodbye to the cats and to Matt -- the girls got their breakfast and Matt got a note scribbled out over the coffee table. There was no working on the flooding of emails and of text messages he had gotten over his past few off-days from work. There was no healthy breakfast. Shiro had just pulled into a donut shop drive through and ordered a dozen box along with two coffees -- one just the way Keith liked it, and the other just the way he liked it.

He arrived at Keith's house very soon after that, knocking on Keith's door with the toe of his shoe due to his hands bein rather full. It had taken a while for Keith to get to the door, leaving Shiro just a tad anxious while he waited, but when the door did open and Shiro caught the sight of Keith's tired face a relieved smile broke across his features.

"Keith," he said softly, slumping his shoulders a little. "Hi... It's just me this time. I, uh, brought donuts, too."

Keith pulled the door open and looked at Shiro, still checking over his shoulder even after Shiro had assured him that it was just him. When he was satisfied he stepped aside, gesturing for Shiro to enter, he finally spoke.  
"I'm surprised you didn't bring Matt." The words came out a little more bitter than intended. "You don't usually come here alone anymore. Take a seat, get comfy, we've got time to waste." he wiped his eyes a little, though this time just out of sleepiness, and pushed the door closed.

Kosmo came bounding over a moment later, sniffing at Shiro and barking, jumping at him before he wriggled through the catflap in the door and disappeared outside. Keith shrugged it off and moved to sit at the kitchen counter.  
"What kind of donuts did you get?" he asked, changing the subject bef0re Shiro could interject with some disappointed comment about his earlier remark.

Shiro, figuring it would be best to ignore the slight tightness in Keith's tone, disregarded the comments from earlier. "Just the normal kinds," he said, shrugging. Shiro set the box down on Keith's counter, overlooking Keith's new kitchen again. There were already pawprints about the white tiled floors."Chocolate. Strawberry. Glazed. Sprinkles. I also got you coffee -- black, like you like it."

He turned around, easing himself on one of the chairs by Keith's breakfast bar. He scooped up his own coffee cup, taking a long sip of it and reaching a hand up to wipe his groggy eyes. "I figured we both needed a little 'pick-me-up'," Shiro sighed, giving Keith a weary sort of smile. "I've been working like crazy, and you didn't sound too good over the phone. Don't look too good either... but I know I'm not one to talk."

Shiro tried his best from sounding awkward. It was the least he could do -- act like things were normal between them. Keep Keith as comfortable and as happy as he could. Shiro didn't really know what he was even doing there if it wasn't for some sort of stability. Some sort of constant Keith could have in his time of need. Keith wouldn't want to talk to him about his mom. Keith wouldn't want to be pitied or comforted. Shiro was just there to be... Shiro. Good old Shiro -- always there. Always running to Keith with the loyalty of a dog.

"Is there anything you want to do?" he asked, setting his coffee down. "We could go to Steak and Shake or something. I still owe you that from that night of my speech and the fire."

Keith shrugged his shoulders a little, taking the box and taking a donut in each hand, having already drained a fair bit of his coffee.  
"That sounds great," he said through a mouthful of chocolate donut, a little smile on his lips as he wiped his mouth. "I haven't been to Steak and Shake in months, I swear. And I'd never pass when you're offering to buy me something to eat."

He leant back, relaxing a little, enjoying the taste of the donuts and being silently relieved that Shiro had come over and gotten him something to eat. He didn't think that he could handle another slice of stale toast or eating dry cereal because he hadn't had time to go out and get any milk. Besides, it was nice to have Shiro over without dragging along Matt for once. Someone who knew everything and wouldn't smother him to death with sickly pity and boring sympathy that always made him want to hit his head against the wall until his brain was mush.

He'd dealt with it every time he made a new friend and was dumb enough to tell them about his dumb fucking trauma. He'd dealt with it when he was in high school, and he'd dealt with it for the first few weeks of college that Shiro had paid for before he'd dropped out. He'd dealt with it whenever people had asked him "where are your parents?" when he was alone as a kid and whenever he'd been told he needed permission to get out of school.

It was never fun having to repeat the same conversations but when they were on such a disgustingly pitiful conversation it was so much worse. He'd always have someone ask where his dad was or where his mom was and he'd either have to say it wasn't their business or, as he'd used to have to do with authority figures, he'd just say it blunt and outright.

 

"Sorry, my mom can't answer the phone if you call home because she's on active duty. Oh, my dad? He died when I was six in a fire. Haha, yeah, it's really inconvenient at times like these. Oh, I know, poor me. Poor little fucking Keith."

Shiro had been his friend since they were kids and knew everything. Shiro had been there when his father had died and again when he'd next seen his mom and Shiro never needed him to explain it or go through the same conversation. Orphan Shiro knew the miseries of the endless pity and the constant questions. The 'oh, do you miss them?' and the 'it must be so difficult. You know that you can always talk to me?' that came from people who didn't understand. Keith was lucky that he didn't have to respond with a dry 'Oh, all the time. I miss them every day' and 'Of course, I'll keep that in mind'.

He didn't envy Shiro's situation. He'd rather not be polite to every stranger that smothered him with pity.

"So we can go there tonight. Anything else we should get done today? I'm sure you have a lot of work so you could do that and just meet me at Steak and Shake if you'd prefer."

Shiro thought about it for a second or so, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "I mean... I should probably go into the office today," he said softly, thinking hard. "I've been working from home for the past few days -- I'm sure everybody is missing me."

He slipped off of the chair, reaching for the box of donuts. Shiro picked out a strawberry with red sprinkles, some shaped like hearts and others shaped like circles. Before he took a bite, however, he looked up at Keith, an idea sparking up behind his eyes.

"Maybe you could come with me?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "I mean, if you don't want to be alone or something. You could come into the office with me and we can hang out while I work on things. God knows I could use the company." Shiro gave a huff of a laugh and looked down at his feet, taking that bite of his donut. When he continued, his words were a little slurred around the food in his mouth. "Only if you want to, of course. I'd get it if you didn't..."

"Shiro, man, don't take this the wrong way but your office is full of people who would hate me if I showed up like this. I'm either going to be forced into another suit to go or I'm going to be treated like a stray cat that wandered in. I don't want to be judged by every single one of your coworkers. And I really don't think Curtis will want to see me when you two are getting along so well." He took another bite of his donut, humming a little at the taste and draining a few mouthfuls of coffee along with it.

He pushed off of his chair, Kosmo wriggling his way back in and sitting in front of Shiro, whining at him, clearly trying to get the last piece of donut from between his fingers. Keith turned to look at Shiro, who was focused on him with big eyes, almost seeming pleading, in response to Keith seemingly turning him down. His eyes flitted between Kosmo's big begging eyes and Shiro's, a little grin curling onto his lips.

Puppy, he thought to himself, just noticing how similar the two of them looked.

And, with that, he gave in. "If I can go in my clothes, or if you've got a suit that'll fit me- and not the one you gave me at the speech because that one was scratchy as hell- then I guess I can go to your office with you."

Shiro brightened up considerably so, setting his half eaten donut back into the box and straightening up a little,a broad smile on his face. "I'm sure I can work something out," he said, voice just barely tipping over the edge of being sly. Shiro nodded his head towards Keith's bedroom, smirking a little bit. "I could take a look at some of your clothes -- I'm sure you have something at least little nice in there, right?"

He gave a heavy snort at the skeptical look Keith had offered him for the suggestion.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising up a hand. "We can go back to my place and find something there. I have some of Matt's clothes -- you can sorta fit in some of his jackets."

"Sorta," Keith emphasised as he whistled for Kosmo, starting to prepare him his breakfast before washing his hands and grabbing his third donut, leaning against the counter beside Shiro and fixing his eyes on him. "But if anyone gets on my nerves then I'm not accountable for what I do. I don't want to deal with a whole office of people looking down on me."

He checked the time.

"How long until we need to go?" Keith took another bite of his donut, taking the box. "'Cause we might be a while if we need to find something that'll fit me. Is Matt still at yours?" He didn't want to endure Matt right now. Not just because he hated him but because Matt was always so damn loud. And that wasn't even considering all of the patronising comments he always made.

Shiro shrugged, and checked the time too, peeking at his watch. "We can probably head over now," he said, looking around Keith's kitchen for a moment or so. "Matt's still at my place, but he's asleep -- like always." He offered a soft laugh at that last bit, feeling a bit warmer than before when Keith laughed along with him. Shiro patted his pockets the check for his keys, and then scooped up his coffee.

"What's wrong?" he asked, smirking a little. "Not a big fan of Matt anymore?"

"Was I ever a big fan?" Keith asked, giving Shiro a look as he began to the door, his coffee in one hand and the donuts in the other. "Maybe it's something about being judged incessantly, maybe it's just my attitude. Come on, let's go. I want to get this over with so we can go out to eat, alright?"

Kosmo was sent to sit on the couch while Keith waited for Shiro to get the door for him and they left, not wanting to get tripped up by his dog making a dash for the door and not wanting to have to wrestle Kosmo out of Shiro's car. He huffed a little, starting outside when Shiro opened the door for him and heading to the car, setting his coffee on top of the car to open the door, settling inside with the donuts on his lap and the coffee in the cupholder.

Shiro settled into the driver's seat once Keith had been situated, shutting the door and clicking his seatbelt over his chest. He waited for Keith to do the same, and then revved up the engine, the car coming to life with a handsome sort of growl before Shiro began to back up out of Keith's driveway. He was excited, to say the least -- happy that Keith was coming with him. Happy that he was managing to keep his emotions in check. Happy things were starting to go back to normal.

It gave Shiro a pleasant sort of hope. The same sort of hope that the discovery Matt had made the night before had given him.

The hope that made it seem as though everything could turn out alright.


	12. Meeting The Deadline

Two weeks. That was how long Zarkon had given Keith to kill Shiro.

 

Fourteen days of pushing it off and making excuses and still having to do his job while trying desperately to avoid being punished for being unable to kill Shiro. It had been thirteen days since then and Keith knew that he was pushing his luck. Zarkon wasn't going to believe that Shiro just 'wasn't showing up' for much longer.

All until he was called to Sendak's office- a nice change, he had to say- and told him that they'd had someone in their system again. That they'd found some information and they'd set something up to catch whoever this was off-guard. That Sendak thought it was the Black Paladin resurfacing and was going to be sending Keith out to deal with it.

As a gift for the occasion- or as a threat, it wasn't clear- Keith was handed a case containing a flamethrower. An adept little thing, one that Sendak said could be assembled in a matter of seconds with enough practice. One that he called the Red Lion, claiming that it fit his name. He then chose to insist that if Keith was successful he could keep it and that if he wasn't, he could be executed with it 'for no extra charge'. Sendak had found his own joke quite funny. Keith hadn't.

But the point was that he was currently sitting on the second floor of an abandoned factory, assembling and disassembling the flamethrower that he'd been given to try and get used to it. To get ot the same speed as Sendak had been able to assemble it in while he killed time. Killing time and waiting to kill Shiro.

He only stopped when he heard footsteps approaching from outside, clipping the last few mechanisms back into place before he fell silent, staying deadly still, awaiting the hint that this was Shiro or that he could move without being spotted. He wasn't going to risk doing something stupid and getting killed for it. He didn't want that to be how Shiro found out who he was. He didn't want Shiro to ever find that out and hopefully tonight would prevent that.

"This can't be the place," Shiro had whispered into his mask as he crept along the perimeter of the building -- peeking into each grimy, cracked windows and surveying the large, empty space. "It's deserted. There's nothing here."

Shiro couldn't shake the feeling that there had been something terribly wrong with the building Matt had sent him to. It was nothing like the others -- no, the others had all been crawling with Galran foot soldiers and lower class crime lords like drug dealers and thieves. They were all equal in regards to the disgust factor, of course. Every Galran safe house or whatever the hell they were had to have been coated in disease on top of disease, every place filthy and mold ridden and covered with all sorts of graffiti and old blood stains. The factory Shiro had been surveying then was no different in that aspect -- it was dark and dreary. All of the old machinery was rusted and old, the slow creaking groan of ancient metal eerie and chill inspiring each time the wind would blow through the broken doorways or windows. However, it had been completely empty.

No one was there. Only the creaks of machinery and the drips of broken water pipes. Maybe the scuttle of rats or roaches somewhere. The place was just a dump -- an old, deserted dump, left to rot on the outskirts of Voltropolis.

There was the familiar crunch of cereal in his ears, and a soft little sigh from Shiro's rather bored right hand man. "This is one of the addresses, Shiro. I've checked it like ten times," Matt said through the speaker, an impatient sort of tightness pulling at his tone. "If you think there's nothing there, then just come home already. Maybe the Galra just ditched this place. Or maybe they never put it to use -- who cares?"

Shiro shook his head. "If the place was on the list, that has to mean something," he said. He began to scan the building for heat signatures for what had to be the third time. Nothing seemed to pop up. "You said it just popped up on the list just a few days ago... maybe they stashed something here?"

"Or maybe they just plan to use it sometime in the future," Matt mumbled. "Listen, Shiro, we scanned the place for everything. For heat signatures. For tech. For radio waves. There's nothing -- not unless someone managed to figure out how to block my tracking, and believe me no one would ever be able to do that. Only a Holt has such power, and I promise you my dad isn't working for the Galra." He gave a little snort at the idea. "Hah. Can you imagine?"

Shiro rolled his eyes. "Focus Matt," he said, moving along the wall and searching for the best entry point. There was a door just up ahead, already open. It blew inwards with every gust of wind, and then clapped back into place with a hollow clang whenever the wind would stop. He lifted his hand and pointed. "I'm going in there. That a good idea?"

"Sure," Matt sighed. "Whatever. I think you should come home, but what the hell do I know?"

Ignoring him, Shiro crept forwards, slipping through the flimsy door and pulling it to a complete close behind him so it wouldn't flap about anymore. The sound of the hinges echoed about the large, empty space before him, mingling with the flapping of plastic tarps tied over old machines and the quiet howl of the wind as it moved across the old building's shuddering frame. Shiro took in a deep breath, and reached up to tap a setting on his mask, trying to see past the shadows of the dark factory. The only real light was the light of the moon, the pale light cutting through the holes in the ceiling and about each and every cracked window. It was a chilling sight. The rest of the light came from the blue glow of his suit and visor, his stealth mode turned off due to the sure emptiness of the factory around him.

His footsteps crunched along the dead leaves and shriveled papers that covered the cement floors, eyes sweeping about the place in a slow fashion -- in search of something out of place. He made his way to the center of the large room, eyes squinted as they fell upon a clearing in all of the leaves and old paperwork. Shiro stepped up to it, and crouched down, reaching a hand to touch the floor. He looked around a moment or so, realizing that little patch of clearness was the only real clean spot in the whole building. The rest of the floor was covered in leaves or rat droppings or dead bugs or something like that.

"I think someone was here," Shiro said into the comm, leaning back on his haunches.

Matt gave a snort in Shiro's ear. "Alright, Sherlock Holmes," he snickered. "Are you done looking for nothing or are you going to start sniffing the floor or something?"

Shiro rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he mumbled, looking around again -- studying each shadow. After a long moment or so, everything silent aside from the white noise, Shiro gave a long sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "Whoever was here is long gone, though. You're right. The place is empty."

"Not totally," Keith called from where he stood, looking down at Shiro as the light from the window shone onto him. It was a bright orange light from a streetlamp, casting his shadow on the floor. His eyes fixed on Shiro, stood on the floor, and he sighed a little, curling one hand into a fist around the handle of the flamethrower. The weapon felt too powerful in his hands. It almost unsettled him. Having a pack of matches could be harmless in the right hands and lethal in his hands. A weapon like this could do horrible things to so many people with one flick of a button or one press of a trigger. He wasn't sure how he felt about holding it. He definitely didn't know how he'd feel using it.

He was soon down on the first floor with Shiro, a few metres of space between them and the Red Lion in his hand. He figured that Shiro would appreciate it if he elaborated.  
"Welcome. I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up. I'm glad you found this place- we knew it was you in the system. You or some little wingman. Regardless, you've been mousing around and sticking your nose in places that it doesn't belong. It's about time we dealt with you. Especially with how much pressure my boss has been putting on me to kill you lately. It's been weeks since I was first told to kill you and, shit, he's getting impatient."

He took a few steps forward, raising the flamethrower and aiming it at Shiro.

"So let's get this over with, shall we?"

Shiro's eyes shot wide open beneath his mask, his features had gone blank with surprise. He only allowed himself to be stunned for maybe a second or so, listening to Matt's clueless blubbering from the comm for only a half a moment before Shiro snapped from his shocked stupor. It was then he tensed up a little, taking a slight step backwards, eyes darting down to Red's new weapon.

"Analyze that. Now," Shiro told Matt sharply, speaking in nothing but a breath of a voice to keep the Flame from hearing him.

As Matt got to work, he flicked his visored gaze back up to Red, and cocked his head. "So you set a trap for me?" he asked, feigning an impressed tone. Shiro's eyes stayed on the Flame's weapon -- Matt was already telling Shiro it was some sort of compacted flame thrower. He started to take a slow step to the side, to try and circle around Red and get out of range, but the Red Flame just followed him with the nose of his weapon, sharp and fast. Shiro figured the only thing he could do was continue to stall.

"I'm glad your boss sees me as that much as a threat," he said, shrugging a little. His tone was deep beneath the distorted audio of his mask, disguising his voice. "You wouldn't mind telling me a little bit about him, would you? I mean, if you are going to kill me and everything, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to spare a few details."

Shiro watched Red tighten his grip on the weapon in his hands. He took that as a no.

He rose his hands up a little, slowly dragging one of his feet backwards, wondering if he could at least get far back enough to keep from getting burned. His suit would protect him from the brunt of the flames, of course. Even at that distance, Shiro would be okay. Hurt, but not fried to a crisp. He had his proper protection beneath the armor -- not like the first time they had met back at Ladnock's mansion. Of course, multiple hits at a closer range would certainly get through his armor and do a little worse than some flesh wounds... but Shiro didn't want to think about that. Matt was already telling him fight strategies to get out of the line of fire.

Red would just have to take the initiative and pull the trigger. Matt had already calculated the blast rate -- Shiro would have a solid few seconds to leap out of the way and flank him. They would just have to count on the whim that Red wouldn't expect him to get out the way in time.

Keith took a few steps toward Shiro every time that he took some steps back.  
"You're going to die here," he said, his voice sharp as he watched Shiro. His finger still rested upon the trigger and he waited for an opportunity where he could use it where Shiro wouldn't just dash to the side or out of the way. He was hoping to get Shiro's back against the wall or into a corner. He was hoping to get him anywhere that he couldn't move from instantly. Right now, Shiro was pressing himself against a wall and the second that he hit it, or noticed that he was nearing it, or diverted his attention away for a second, Keith was going to pull that trigger and he was going to make Shiro burn.

It could be easily done if he so desperately wanted it but something about this, right now, it didn't seem totally fair. He was telling himself he wanted to drag it out but Keith, armed with some big flamethrower versus Shiro with nothing but his bare hands? It wasn't fair. It wasn't an equal fight. It wasn't equal at all.

 

"You're going to die by my hand and I'm going to get paid excessively for it. Is there anything that you'd want me to get to put at your memorial? I'm sure there'll be something put up for Voltropolis' most pathetic attempt at a vigilante." He stopped where he stood, as Shiro was only a few paces from the wall and he didn't want to be stood much closer when he set this thing off.

Shiro grit his teeth a little behind his mask, but he offered a huff of a laugh, keeping up his confident composure. "I don't care for memorials," he muttered, still moving backwards. There was a tangle of worry beginning to twist about his system with every step Red had followed -- he could feel the wall looming behind his back as he moved. "But if I die, at least I'll get one. What are you going to get, Red? Who is going to remember you? The life you're living won't give you anything but disgrace."

"Trust me," Keith said, his voice no less malicious than before but a little quieter. "Nobody knows that better than me."

And then Shiro took half a step back and his heel bumped against the wall and Keith took his chance, pulling the trigger- only for it not to move. He muttered a curse and moved his thumb to flick off the safety, his body tensing a little while he tried to take his chance. He turned the safety off in a moment but Shiro was already starting to dash out of his range, taking his chance. By the time Keith had pulled the trigger again and when it came back to life, spitting out flames from the Lion's mouth, it only managed to catch Shiro's leg. He was only in range long enough for it to burn his calves before Keith lifted his finger from the trigger, a grin on his lips.

He had to admit that as skeptical as he'd been, this was fun to use. He'd have to thank Sendak for it later. Maybe, without Shiro as a threat, he'd be going on more missions. Savouring the kill with a device like this.

White hot pain consumed Shiro's leg, from his ankle all the way up his calf and to the inside of his knee. He stumbled, and fell, crying out as the angry pain of the resh wound caught up to him. Shiro, gasping a little, curled up both hands flying for the burns but stopping before he could touch them. His eyes fluttered open, and a tipped his head down, clenching his jaw down and gritting his teeth hard at the sight of his calf. The gun had been more powerful then they thought -- the fire had licked right through the suit, which bubbled and melted onto Shiro's bright red, festering skin.

"Holy shit!" Matt's voice was loud in Shiro's buzzing ears. "Are you okay?"

Shiro, despite feeling like he could throw up, nodded his head, and began pushing up from the ground. "Fine," he rasped, groping his hand outwards towards one of the tarped machines. Shiro grasped onto a metal bar, and with a stifled cry of pain, he pulled himself to his feet, easing all his weight onto the one good leg. Luckily only one of his legs had been close enough to the flame to get burned so bad -- the other had just been singed a bit, the material of his suit not melted, only sizzling.

He whipped his head back up to Red, who was already approaching him, clicking something on his weapon -- something that was either a reloading clip or a resetting clip. Shiro knew he couldn't let Red fire again, especially since he wasn't mobile enough to get out of the way in time. With that in mind, Shiro ducked his head a bit and bent his one knee, waiting for Red to get close enough for him to lunge...

Without another thought, Shiro did. He pushed from the ground with his one leg, using the momentum of his leap to launch a powerful punch towards the Flame's head, his fist angled towards his jaw. It landed. A sharp pain traveled down Shiro's arm from his knuckles as Red's head whipped backwards and he began to stumble. Shiro ignored it, settling his hand on Red's shoulder so he could keep his own balance and then raising his prosthetic back for another punch. He was going to try to knock Red out -- hit him again and again with relentless blows. It was the only reasonable thing he could think of. Shiro would lose a regular fight in no time with that leg of his, and then Red would kill him. He tried to focus on that as he brought his metal fist down.

Keith raised his hands to block but didn't get there in time. The hard impact made stars burst across his vision and tears well up in his eyes. He'd already lost the flamethrower after the second or third punch but if he'd had it now he would have hit Shiro in the head with it. Instead he did the next best thing he could and drove his knee into Shiro's stomach, his arms crossed over his head to absorb most of the impact to save his face from any more damage.

He kicked Shiro in the stomach again and again, cursing himself for having dismissed Lance and insisting that he didn't need his help this time. He could really do with a reminder on where those weak spots were. He knew that he wouldn't have been able to get Shiro's throat now- which he could remember had been a weak spot- and the eyes were definitely out of access so he had to go for the next best thing and drove his foot into Shiro's crotch hard, hoping that would distract him or at least get him to falter long enough to be able to gain the upper hand again. The Red Lion was just within reach and if Shiro would let up for half a fucking second he'd be able to grab it.

Shiro did falter. Luckily, Matt had made sure that the armor there was fairly strong, but Red's kick had been hard. Shiro's eyes shot open, pain shooting all the way up to his gut and then settling there in the base of his stomach like an aching ball of led. He leaned back a bit, releasing his hold on the Flame's shoulder so he could try and hold his legs down instead. He moved too much, still too dazed with pain, and accidentally jostled his burn wounds against Red's squirming ones. Shiro was met with a prompt explosion of stars in his vision, his eyes clenching shut as a loud shit! left his cringing lips.

His head was too fuzzy to remember Red underneath him for a moment or so. It was certainly too fuzzy to recognize that Red had been reaching for his flame thrower. It may have been a beat of a second of distraction, but it was all the Red Flame needed.

Keith grabbed it by the handle and swung it without a second thought. It hit Shiro's temple hard and Keith used this to push himself back, getting to his feet and wielding the Red Lion again. He held it, fixing the gas tank back into place after the impact before he let his finger rest on the trigger.  
"You can't win!" he shouted, flicking it on for just a moment. A warning shot, if there was a way to do that with a flamethrower. "So give up! Don't make this more difficult than it has to be for me. It's already been inconvenient enough that you've managed all of this shit!"

He took a step closed to Shiro, holding the Red Lion so tight that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. He couldn't risk letting Shiro knock it from his hold again. He could feel blood dripping down his face from his nose under his mask and he must have had a split lip, too. The punches had done a hell of a lot of damage and it wouldn't be easy to explain that away.

It took him a few moments to realise that he wouldn't have to.

He held it tighter, as if the idea of not having to lie anymore was somehow painful.  
"If you give up now I might have the mercy to kill you before I burn you. Burning to death is a slow and agonising death and it's one that I'm sure you won't want to go through."

Shiro gave a groan as he lifted his head up, his vision still swimming from that hit with Red's flamethrower. It had knocked his head into his mask, the hit so hard it split the skin over his eyebrow, hot blood trickling down his face from the cut. Shiro blinked a little, trying to clear out the glaze of his vision as he focused his gaze upon the nose of Red's weapon -- pointed directly at his spot on the ground. Matt was quiet in his ears. No suggestions. No sarcastic quips. Just a terrified silence.

He grit his teeth, shaking his head a little. There was no way for him to get up -- he was sure that if he moved that Red would pull the trigger. Shiro set his hands and arms on the ground anyways, pushing himself up to his knee, his bad leg limp with all the weight focused on the other. He tried hard to ignore the threatening weapon aimed at his head, and looked into the mask of the man wielding it.

"You can tell me I'm not going to win all you want to," Shiro growled, curling his hands into fists. "But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to lose fighting."

He started to get up, pushing up from the ground with his one leg, his hand setted on the machinery beside him again. Shiro flinched when Red clicked his gun, but he stood up anyways, straightening out his posture and holding his head high so he could stare the Red Flame down. He lifted both his hands and curled them into fists in front of him, wavering a bit without the balance of the machine beside him.

"You can pull that trigger if you want to," Shiro muttered, rolling his shoulders a bit. "But where's the fun in that? Killing me with just a twitch of your fingers? Sounds a bit cowardly to me."

Matt finally chimed in Shiro's ear. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, voice fast paced and nervous. "He'll shoot if you don't shut up."

Shiro ignored Matt and leaned forwards a bit, cocking his head. "To be fair, though, all your murders have been a little spineless," he hummed, smirking beneath his mask. His tone was low -- snarky and mean. Oiled up with the annoying sound of a sharp taunt. It was rare Shiro would ever get so mean... but he had a plan in mind, and he only got nastier as he went on. "Killing defenseless people with fire? Hell, you're not even the one killing them. Where's the honor? Didn't your daddy ever teach you to fight like a man?"

Keith flinched back a little- quite visibly, too.  
"Daddy didn't teach me shit," he spat, swinging the handle of the flamethrower again and hitting Shiro with it. A little harder this time. "Because daddy's dead and has been for years." He swung his fist to hit Shiro, managing to catch him before he'd even recovered from the first hit. He dropped his gun and threw himself on top of Shiro, his hands closing around his throat.

 

He tightened his hold, his eyes burning with anger as they fixed on the masked Shiro thrashing beneath him.  
"Is this going to be a spineless way to kill you?!" he shouted, as if Shiro had been issuing a challenge or as if he was just setting his record straight. "I'll strangle you with my own two fucking hands! I offered you an easy way out and instead you chose to die a painful death!"

He tightened his hold further, almost forgetting that it was Shiro under the mask. In fact, he didn't care about anything in the moment other than getting revenge on the vigilante beneath him so he could be paid tomorrow and free the next day.

He only managed to pry himself away from Shiro to get the Red Lion because he realised that the flamethrower would be a much more agonising way to go. Because this way, if he burned Black alive, then he would be able to hear his screams until the very last second. Nothing mattered to him right now more than revenge.

Shiro coughed, gasping for air once Red had released the hold on his throat. He was pushing up on his elbows, though, lifting his woozy, splintering head up to see the Flame patting backwards for his weapon. Shiro grit his teeth, knowing he had to act fast, and pushed himself up a bit more with his prosthetic, attempting to punch Red one more time with his organic hand. Red noticed him though, whether it was Shiro's ragged breaths or the movement of his fist in Red's peripheral.

He caught Shiro's fist, and used his other hand to lash out with the flamethrower again. He brought it down against Shiro's head for a third time, and then when Shiro didn't fall back he did it a fourth. Shiro gave a groan and slumped backwards, feeling Red's tight hand grip his wrist and slam it down on the ground beside him. In a final attempt, Shiro tried to punch out with his prosthetic, but Red dodged it and in turn threw his knee into Shiro's stomach -- up into his diaphragm.

Wheezing, Shiro fell slack against the ground, his prosthetic clanging against the cement floor, his other hand held tight in Red's grip. He could see through his visor that Red had the flamethrower in hand, even if the image had been split and blurry with what had to be a concussion. Shiro grit his teeth, and began to gather his strength to push up again.

"Fucking give up!" Keith shouted, stomping his foot down on Shiro's chest and choosing to ignore the sickly cracking noise that that earned him. "You've lost! This is the end of the line no matter how hard you fight or how many times you try to get back up!"

He took the Red Lion and hit Shiro with it again. Not as hard this time but hard enough for the impact to snap Shiro's head to the side. He turned it so the barrel was facing Shiro and pressed it down on his neck, just below his ear. He'd only planned on resting it there as a threat but the end of the barrel was still burning hot and it was only a matter of moment before he noticed the little trickle of smoke coming from where it dug into his skin.

Shiro's whole body went rigid the second the nose of Red's weapon had touched the bare skin of his neck -- where neither the suit nor the mask protected. It only took a swift beat of his system stalling in its shock before he screamed. He howled. The piping hot metal of Red's flamethrower seemed to eat away at his flesh on contact, his nerves exploding with white, blistering pain. He tried to pull away, but his head had already been turned too much -- he was stuck, pinned beneath Red and his burning weapon while he writhed beneath them, eyes stinging with tears.

The second he'd heard the scream Keith had instinctively pulled back the gun, staring down at the mark of red raw flesh that seemed to boil around where it had made impact. The blood was bubbling up around it, giving a sickly kind of look that made Keith feel a little ill- but nothing that wasn't easy to ignore. Instead, he just took a slight step back and moved the gun so that the barrel was hovering just above Shiro's throat. He'd stop him from being able to scream next time. After he'd heard that blood curdling sound. He didn't want to hear it again- especially not while Shiro burned to death.  
"Any last words?" he spat, glaring down at Shiro. "This is your last warning to get anything off of your chest. I'm sure the man in your ear will appreciate anything that you have to say."

 

He watched Shiro, hesitating a little, tempted to just pull the trigger before he could do or say anything else, before guilt could try and get the better of him, but he'd offered now and if Matt was in his ear then he at least deserved to have Shiro say something to him. Anything at all. He didn't want them to end like this. He wasn't even sure how he felt about his own situation with Shiro- outside of the mask, he meant. He wasn't sure how he'd feel about their last interactions as just Shiro and Keith, not as Black and Red. The thought of it made his stomach churn.

Shiro gave a tight whimper, still recovering from the pain of that burn. He could hear Matt's voice in his ear, asking him if he was alright, telling him to get up -- telling him to find some magical way out of that situation. Some way to get out of that factory alive. Shiro wasn't really listening. His focus, a buzzing and whirring focus with all of those blows to his head of course, was trained upon the weapon aimed at his throat. His focus was trained on the Flame's words -- that mercy he'd granted. That final mercy...

Final?

Am I going to die here?

"Wait," Shiro blurted. He didn't know why... Red had already been waiting for him. Shiro didn't know much of anything really. He just knew his system was coiling together into what felt like a tight corkscrew of fear.

Ah yes, that very primal fear of death. The fear of the end. Shiro could feel his heart race in his chest. He could feel it pound against his ribcage , the pulse rising in his throat -- nearly choking him. His eyes were wide and his body felt frozen. He had come in contact with that fear before, of course... but never in such a hopeless situation. Shiro didn't really know what to do. He didn't really know what to say. He would have looked to Matt for guidance, but Matt was finally quiet in his ear. Somehow the silence was more deafening than his chatter.

What would happen? Where would he go? What would he leave behind? A burned up corpse in a mask for the police to discover? They would discover him and his identity -- the whole city would know who the Black Paladin was, even if he was a dead man. Would they miss him? Would they care?

Would Keith care?

Shiro jammed his eyes shut beneath his mask, and grit his teeth.

"I'm sorry," he said very quickly, voice trembling and raspy. "I'm so sorry, Matt. This isn't looking good, buddy. You can have the apartment. I love you... more than words can express I love you-- thanks for everything."

"Shiro?" Matt's voice sounded panicked. Terrified even "What the hell? You're not going to die! Cut that out!"

Shiro could hear the flamethrower charge up -- he could feel the heat begin to gather about the nose of the gun, just above him. He jammed his eyes shut even tighter, and shook his head a little bit. The pulse in his throat quickly became the lump of an upcoming sob. He could hear it in his voice when he spoke again. It was rather obvious how close to tears he was... but Shiro couldn't care. His mind was spinning too fast. His heart was pounding too hard. He just opened his mouth and let his final words spill past his lips.

"Tell Keith I'm sorry. Tell him I'm so sorry for leaving him alone. When... when he finds out just tell him I tried. I tried so hard to stay alive for him. Tell... tell him that no matter what I love him and that I wish I could be there for him. Please take care of him, Matt. Please. I don't want him to be alone anymore... I don't want you to be alone. Just take care of each other..."

He trailed off, only then realizing how wet his eyes had been. Shiro only had a single request left in his spinning head. His voice was nothing but a shaky whisper when he let it out.

"One last thing... turn the comm off. I don't... I don't want you to hear this."

With that, Shiro turned his head and cringed, waiting for the fire to burst from Red's flamethrower and devour him in it's agonizing blaze.

But nothing came.

The Red Lion stayed in place, hovering just above Shiro's head for just a few moments before Keith lowered his arm, eyes fixing on him. He didn't say anything for a long few moments, watching when Shiro's head tilted up and fixed on him, showing that puppy-like confusion with his head cocked one way and a frown on his lips. He lowered the gun, keeping his foot on Shiro's chest, and disassembled it in a few moments.

"If I see one flicker of movement," he said to Shiro as he lifted his foot from his chest. "Then I'm killing you. Stay down and stay still and we can leave this here."

He climbed a ladder back to where he'd been sat, taking the case for the Red Lion and beginning to clip everything back into place, his eyes fixing on Shiro. He took out a clunky brick phone from inside his bag and took a picture of Shiro lying there, sending it to Sendak and following it up with 'Canister is empty but mission success'. Content that if Shiro came back it could be perceived as a mistake on his end- nothing worth 'termination', he hoped, he tucked his phone away and clipped the case shut, slinging it over his shoulder.

His eyes fixed on Shiro, lying there on the floor, each jagged breath wheezing and making his chest creak. He could see Shiro flinching every so often and was sure that he'd either broken or fractured a rib, which would be hell for Shiro over the next few weeks but Keith hadn't been expecting him to last this long and definitely hadn't been thinking long term.  
"I'd say you have an hour before one of my bosses gets here and finds you still breathing. Let's hope your comm boy gets here quicker, huh? I would hate for someone else to end up finishing what I started."

And, with one last little huff and a murmur under his breath, Keith began out of the warehouse. Leaving Shiro lying in the dust and texting Lance to come pick him up from a donut shop a street away. He was going to regret leaving Shiro alive.

Shiro's gaze followed Red until he couldn't see him anymore, eyes wide beneath his visor, as still as he could be until the black and red suit disappeared into the distance. After a few moments of making sure he was alone, Shiro slumped down to the ground, groaning a little bit as he lifted a hand up to his mask.

"Holy shit," Shiro panted, shaking his head a little as his hand searched for the button. It was getting hard to breath -- even with the ventilation system of his mask, Shiro figured it would be easier without it. "That was close."

"You're a fucking idiot! Do you know that?" Matt shouted in Shiro's ear. Shiro winced, but he took it as nothing but his friend's primal concern. He clicked the button on his mask -- hearing that soft hiss as it loosened around his head. "You had me on the edge of my seat. Just... fuck. Just stay there. I'm already on my way."

Shiro let out a wheeze of a laugh, feeling a little lightheaded from all of the left over adrenaline still pumping through his system. He slipped the mask off of his face, looked around a bit to make sure no one had been watching, and then he set it down beside him.

"How bad is it? What is the suit telling you?"

Matt grumbled something under his breath. Shiro could hear footsteps -- soon he heard the sound of a car door open and close. "Nothing I can't fix. Your life is going to fucking suck for the next couple weeks though," Matt told him bluntly. "We've come up with some good lies in the past but I have no idea how we're going to explain this one."

"I can just say I tripped or something," Shiro murmured, feeling a little woozy. He settled his eyes closed, and let out a long sigh -- a painful one that ended in a cough and another groan. Shiro shook his head a little bit. "Why do you think... why do you think he stopped? Was it something I said?"

There was a scoff from Matt. "Who cares? The important thing is you're alive." His voice dropped a little at that last bit, becoming softer. "I... you had me worried there for a second, Shiro. Real damn worried. Don't you ever do that to me again, do you understand?"

Shiro smiled a little. "I understand," he mumbled.

"Good. Now just sit tight. I'll be there in fifteen. Ten if I break some traffic laws."

Keith had just arrived home by the time Matt got to Shiro. He had some more donuts, having finished his ones from this morning and wanting some more just to get him through the evening. His nose was broken but he'd reset it and was going to hope for the best, some ice on his left eye where Shiro had hit him hard and he was hoping it wouldn't turn into a black eye.

Had he really let Shiro go that easily? More importantly, did he mean so much to Shiro that his possible last words could have been 'tell Keith I'm sorry'? Even thinking of it would make his stomach twist with an uncomfortable kind of guilt and he tried desperately not to focus on something so morbid or depressing. He didn't want to be plagued with the guilt of what he could have done. He didn't want to consider how he would be feeling now if he'd managed to pull the trigger. He just wanted to curl up in bed, Kosmo at his side, and sleep until everything passed him by. He'd need to put off meeting up with Shiro for a while after this. His wounds had to heal and he didn't want to do anything that might arouse suspicion.

"Stop squirming. It's not that bad."

Matt was relentless as he patched up Shiro's leg, not holding back as he treated the burns in Shiro's previously sterilized bathroom over a plastic tarp. That was their usual go-to whenever Shiro's wounds were bad enough -- a cleaned space where there could be no chance of infection when Matt worked on him, a medkit at his side and two rubber gloves on his hand.

Shiro gave a whine, and hung his head backwards, the breath panting through his clenched teeth. He was on pain meds, sure, but they didn't have anything strong enough to keep him from feeling Matt clean out the dead skin from the fresh injury -- each wipe of Matt's alcohol pad and each prick of a tweezer. Shiro just told himself that he'd been through worse as Matt went on, his hand curled into a fist around a handful of that tarp, his eyes squeezed shut so tight he saw colors dance behind his closed lids.

They had saved the burns for last, despite them being some of the worst injuries Shiro had gotten from the fight. Matt had patched up the cuts and bruises on Shiro's face first, and then moved to wrapping up Shiro's chest -- telling him there wasn't much he could do about the ribs aside from let them heal naturally. He rubbed some antibiotic cream on the brand beneath Shiro's ear, and covered it with large, criss-crossed bandaids, and then did the same to Shiro's split knuckles. Finally he had gotten down to Shiro's second and third degree burns, using an online video from Shiro's computer to guide him through every step. It was how Matt learned to take care of him after every fight -- Youtube and Google.

"This is going to scar," Matt mumbled after a while, shaking his head a little.

Shiro gave a nod. "Yeah, yeah," he said back, swallowing hard. He reached his hand out to his side a bit blindly, patting around the floor for his water bottle. "I figured. I've already lost feeling in some places -- I'm sure plenty of my nerves are dead."

Matt snorted. "Alright, Mr. Know-It-All," he said, leaning back a little. "I already knew that. I have the internet right here." He set down the tweezers and the wipes in a metal can, looking Shiro's leg up and down. "I think I might be done. All I have to do is put some burn cream on it and wrap it up."

Shiro just nodded again, and waited for him to get done with it.

There was a long silence after that as Matt finished up. Neither of them seemed to find anything to say -- nothing they really wanted to talk about. Shiro could clearly see the concern in Matt's eyes, though. He could see the lasting fear that had rooted there the second he thought Shiro was going to die. As much as he wanted to say something about it... Shiro couldn't quite find the words. Just like Matt couldn't find the words to ask Shiro about what he had said. About his presumed last requests. That chilling 'turn the comm off' still hung in Matt's head as he patched up his best friend's leg. It would hang with him for a while.

"So," Matt said once he was done with Shiro's leg. "I'm guessing our friend the Red Flame is a much bigger priority now?"

Scooting back some and hissing at the lasting pain in his leg, Shiro shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we can count him as a much bigger threat," he mumbled, looking down at himself. "I underestimated him and look at me now. I'm pathetic." There was an empty snort, and then a wince at how the laughter hurt his wrapped up chest. "The only thing I don't understand is why he couldn't do it. He also said he waited, like, two weeks to kill me. What? Does he have a soft spot for me or something?"

Even if the little statement had been a joke, Shiro felt something ugly stir deep inside of his belly. He felt a deep rooted dread churn about his system -- the same dread that flushed through him when he smelled that smoke from Keith. When Keith lied to his face about it.

The more he began to think about the Red Flame, the more of that feeling seemed to eat him up, really. It wasn't fear of the Flame... but it was most definitely a fear. Something he didn't want to face. Something he didn't want to connect. Something that he forced so far back into his mind -- something he told himself was so impossible he didn't even have to think about it. Even if Red hadn't killed him. Even if Red had a dead father. Even if Red showed him mercy only when Shiro had said Keith's name.

Even if Keith smelled like smoke.

"He's probably just some dumb kid who doesn't know what he's doing, Shiro," Matt said, pawing the air. "He didn't kill you because he's an idiot. If we're lucky, his fuckin' boss will take care of him before we have to."

Shiro snapped from his thoughts and looked up at him, trying to shake away that thrum of dread still resonating in his stomach. He offered a weak smile, and nodded his head a little, reaching his prosthetic up to his aching temple.

"Yeah, yeah. You're probably right," Shiro mumbled. "Let's just... let's just go to bed. I think I deserve it."


	13. Suspicions Arising

"This isn't some casual discussion, boy! I'm asking you a single question, and you must answer! Why wasn't there a body?"

Zarkon's voice boomed about his office, loud and threatening. He was standing over his desk, both hands slammed into the wooden surface, each curled into tight fists. So tight, it almost looked as though he could split the skin of his palms with those sharp nails of his. His face was twisted into a look of dangerous anger as he glared down at Keith, eyes like the fire Keith liked to use to kill his victims -- blazing and crackling behind those enraged irises.

"I told you I wanted to see it! I gave you direct orders!" he continued to shout, leaning forwards a bit. "You said the mission was a success, so why wasn't there a body?"

"I didn't get the chance to burn the body," he said, his voice full of a bitter hatred as he glared at Zarkon. "The flamethrower Sendak gave me ran out of fuel and I couldn't burn the body so I left it and told Sendak to come get it. Obviously I just missed his fucking pulse or something, alright?"

He was getting really sick of this. He'd known this was coming when he left Shiro alive and he'd known it was coming the second his phone had started ringing that morning. He knew that Shiro would have been his downfall whether he'd killed him or not. If he had killed him, the guilt would have driven him insane. Instead, he was left at Zarkon's mercy unless he could convince him that it was just some kind of a mistake.

He pulled up the picture on his phone that he'd sent to Sendak the night before and dropped it onto the table in front of Zarkon.

"See? I thought that I'd done the job and evidently something went wrong. Let's leave it at that. When I've got a full canister and I can get ahold of him again then fine, I'll make sure that he's burnt to a crisp." What else was there to say? It wasn't like he wanted to tell Zarkon that he'd willingly decided not to kill Shiro. He didn't want to say that he'd been too much of a coward and backed down. Not when his only reason was that he knew who Black was and he couldn't do that to someone so important to him. Zarkon would definitely kill him if he even hinted at having an emotional weakness like that.

Zarkon didn't even dignify the photo with even a glance. Instead, he simply gave a huff of an angry scoff, and shook his head. "I know you're a idiot, but no one is that Goddamn stupid," he growled, lifting his hand and pointing a finger at him. "You're telling me that the Black Paladin is still alive because you slipped up on basic procedure? You check the pulse! Always! At the very least you should have unmasked him and told us his identity! You're lucky I don't kill you now for your incompetence."

He leaned back a little, noting the slight relief that flickered about Keith's features at his last little phrase. "One more slip up like that, and I'll gut you like a fish and then send your entrails to everyone you've ever loved," Zarkon threatened, voice deep and dark with promise. "However it is obvious you cannot take such large tasks anymore. I'll send someone else to deal with our Paladin. You can stick to your normal missions -- but your pay will be cut in half for your mistakes."

"You can't fucking do that!" Keith snapped without even thinking, glaring at Zarkon. "You told me that I'd get full pay if I killed ten people as per your command. We had a verbal agreement! You can't just change your mind because I made one mistake that you could fix if you just got one of your hundreds of people to take over that job! It wouldn't cost you anything!"

 

He moved away from the desk, just a step or two back, and kept his glare fixed on Zarkon, unwavering. He wasn't going to back down or change his stance on this. Zarkon had promised to pay him $100,000 for every ten people that he'd killed. He'd never mentioned being able to change or dock pay over what, a 'mistake'? Keith wasn't going to be killing people for $5,000 each. He wasn't going to be putting himself and his life at stake every time he went out for a mission for that measly pay. He'd only agreed to taking this job for a price as low as 10k per person because he was desperate and the money he was earning was meaning less and less as the years went by. He'd have pushed it to at least 20k if he'd known what he was doing back then.

"I get full pay or I set this place on fire," he said, it only being an empty threat because he knew of the security measures and the consequences that there would be if he tried. "I'm not going to walk out of here without you promising to give me all my money."

Zarkon entire demeanor darkened considerably so. If it was even possible, he somehow became all the more threatening -- all the more relentless in his stare and in his posture. His eyes flicked up to the two guards by the door, and he nodded, launching them both into action. They leapt forwards and grabbed Keith by the arms -- each kicking in his legs by the knees and forcing him down on the ground. He struggled, but he only earned a punch from each of them for his troubles, one across the face and another right into his stomach. Zarkon waited for Keith to relax before he made his slow, stalking way out from behind his desk, and towards Keith's pinned position on the ground. He reached down and grabbed Keith's face in his hand, tilting his head up so Keith could look him in the eye.

"I think you're forgetting your position here, Keith," he said in his deep, gravely tone. His grip on Keith's face only tightened, those sharp fingernails digging into Keith's flesh. It was only a matter of time before they broke the skin. "I own you. You are mine. You do what I tell you to do, and I pay you only out of the goodness of my heart. Good little soldiers get money. But expendable soldiers? Little basket cases who keep messing up their jobs?" He squeezed hard with his hand, drawing blood from his fingertips, watching as Keith flinched at the feeling. "Their only payment is keeping their lives."

Keith's eyes fixed on Zarkon, his body tense, everything about him telling him to give in or to run- even though neither were options that he had available.

Zarkon's thumb had rested on his chin and Keith, well aware that this was quite possibly the dumbest thing he could do in his situation, naturally decided that he was going to bite it. He turned his head sharply to pull it at least a little loose from Zarkon's hold before he sank his teeth into his thumb, biting down on it so hard that he tasted blood and felt the warm metallic fluid in his mouth. It was disgusting, yes, but the worst that Zarkon could do was kill him and he could only do that once. Besides, if it was known that Keith died because he bit Zarkon then he was sure it would be an honourable way to die.

He only pulled back a moment or so later, spitting the blood onto the floor at Zarkon's feet.  
"Fucking kill me then!" he shouted, challenging Zarkon, knowing that he could easily take up the challenge but being too cocky not to say something. "See if anyone cares! But good luck getting someone else who'll do my job."

Zarkon had ripped his hand away as if he was snatching it from a rabid dog, but once his thumb had been out of the range of Keith's mouth, he seemed to take a moment to study it. His eyes narrowed as he watched the very slight trickle of blood soak through his glove, almost thoughtful as they flicked back down the Keith. The guards that had been holding him had gone very pale, each of them trading glances and then looking back to Keith, almost shocked he would make such a mistake. There was a moment of eerie silence, the only sound the huffing and puffing of Keith's ragged, angry breaths.

But the moment passed. Zarkon brought back his fist and hit Keith. Hard.

After Keith's head had been whipped to the side by Zarkon's mighty punch, Zarkon brought his foot back and slammed it into Keith's stomach. The two guards flinched back, releasing Keith -- but it didn't matter. Zarkon kicked him again. And again. And again. He was curled up on the ground in a fetal position when Zarkon was done, spitting out his own blood onto Zarkon's carpet.

Zarkon stepped back, and smoothed out his jacket, before crouching down, reaching a hand to grab Keith by the throat and pull him up to eye level. He wasn't squeezing enough to cut Keith's air supply, but he made sure Keith knew that he could as he brought him close -- nearly letting their noses touch.

"Fine," Zarkon spat. His voice was very quiet, but the anger of his tone seemed to be louder than anything somehow. "You don't care about your own life. Okay -- I can work with that. But you care about your mother's life, don't you? How about your dog's life? How about the fool you do business with? Oh, how about that man you're always hanging with? The one on the news? The philanthropist? Do you care about him, Keith?"

When Keith didn't answer aside from his wheezing, Zarkon released him, throwing him to the ground in a pitiful heap. He stood up slowly, casually taking his handkerchief from his breast pocket and using it to clean up the blood from his thumb. He watched Keith writhe about for a few moments before speaking again.

"I won't just kill everyone you love," he said, speaking just only above a whisper. "I'll torture them. Slowly. And I'll tie you down in a chair and force you to watch. And then when they're all dead -- when they all die knowing that it was your fault I killed them in such a way -- I will kill you just as slow. Or... or maybe I won't kill you. I'll just lock you up for the rest of your life to sit and think about everyone you let down. Your mother, your friends, your work partners."

He took a deep breath, turning around and walking towards his desk. Zarkon settled down in his chair, and crossed his legs, leaning over his desk -- elbows propped on the surface. He watched Keith struggle to get up for a few moments, still wheezing and gasping for all the breath Zarkon had kicked right out of him. Zarkon waited for his words to settle before he spoke again.

"So, I think that concludes this meeting, don't you?" he said softly, offering a dark sort of smile. "I do hope you consider my offers, Keith. Just stick to the missions I give you, and don't screw up again. You're lucky your snarky little rebellions don't make me dock your pay even more."

Keith managed to get to the door without collapsing, slamming it shut behind him and snatching another ornament off of a table beside Zarkon's room. Now it was worth stealing these things- a way to make back what Zarkon was refusing to pay him- and he stumbled his way to the elevator.

He got home eventually, though he didn't remember how, and fumbled with his phone to text Shiro asking if he could be picked up. They'd had plans to spend time together today, mostly because Shiro had insisted and Keith didn't want to turn him down, and he knew that he was in no condition to drive his bike. Unless he'd driven it back. His head was so scrambled with both the threat and the onslaught of punches he'd received. Kosmo was still somewhere in his room, probably, sleeping as if Keith hadn't just been getting the shit beaten out of him, and judging by the full bowl he had yet to move.

While waiting for Shiro to reply to his text, he fumbled around with getting something for breakfast, starting to make a slice of toast when blood dripped onto the counter, narrowing avoiding the bread he was getting out. He groaned, getting a tissue and bringing it to his still-broken nose, muttering his frustration to himself. Of course Zarkon had fucked up his nose while it was healing. Of course he was going to wait however much longer for it to heal again. That was just what he got.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Matt's voice called out from behind Shiro, freezing him in his tracks. He'd been reaching for the doorknob of his apartment, quickly trying to sneak out so he could go pick up Keith. He had gotten the text maybe fifteen minutes ago -- he responded as fast as he could and told Keith he'd be there in maybe twenty or thirty minutes. Matt had been asleep on the couch... or at least that's what Shiro thought as he tried to creep his way to the door, trying to move as quietly as he could with that crutch Matt was making him use.

It had been two days since the night at the factory, and Shiro was getting restless. Not just because he wanted to get back at Red for what he had done to him, but also because he felt like he needed to go into the office and work some. Of course, after finding that list of addresses on the Galra server, Shiro had continued going to work like he used to before the whole Red Flame mess... but that hadn't even been two weeks of proper work. CEOs didn't take sick days. Even if Shiro was sure he'd cause a storm with the press with all of his bruises and his crutch. Even if Curtis would likely give him those sad, concerned eyes and ask him for the truth on what had happened -- their story had been that Shiro tripped and fell, spraining his ankle and busting open his lip and head. They even had a fake little wrap on Shiro's foot to 'prove' it.

Anyhow, Shiro was restless. The second he had gotten that text from Keith, he was dead set on sneaking out under Matt's nose to go get him. He supposed it didn't work as he turned around, leaned over on his crutch and flicking his guilty stare to the floor.

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" Shiro asked, offering an innocently quaint smile.

Matt pushed himself off of the couch scowling at Shiro as he made his way over to him. "No, I would not," he mumbled, reaching down to snatch Shiro's car keys from his hand. Shiro whined, but he didn't try to snatch them back. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

Shiro pouted for a second or so, and then pulled his phone out from his pocket. "Keith asked me to come pick him up," he said shamefully. "I... I invited him over..."

Matt looked Shiro up and down, eyebrows high on his head. "Why would you invite him over? He's going to want to know why you look like you were hit by a bus."

All Shiro could offer was a shrug. "I miss him, I guess," he said biting his lower lip.

Matt looked at Shiro for a moment or so, offering a soft frown. "You sure it has nothing to do with... how shady he's been recently?" he asked, voice getting a little softer with an eerie concern in no way sounded like Matt at all.

There was a heavy pause, Shiro flicking his eyes down to the floor, some guilty tension rising in his shoulders. The morning after his fight with the Red Flame, Shiro had been a little too drowsy on pain meds -- he had told Matt everything that had been worrying him about Keith. From the smoke on his clothes to Red getting out of control over his dead father. Matt seemed to piece it all together as Shiro rambled on in his pain medicated high, and ever since he had grown a bit more bitter whenever the topic of Keith would arise. Of course, once Shiro's head had been a bit clearer, he assured Matt it was nothing but his paranoia and that he didn't have to worry about Keith... but Matt never really seemed to believe that last bit.

Shiro gave a soft sigh, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "No... I... I just haven't seen him in a few days-"

"Since the fight, you mean?" Matt interrupted, tone a little sharper.

Shiro offered him a slight glare, but he didn't respond. There was a long pause -- a heavy, tensioned silence as the two of them stood there for a moment, waiting for the other to back down. Luckily for Shiro, it didn't take long before Matt couldn't tolerate the awkward quiet any longer. That, or Shiro's puppy-dog eyes had been the thing to break him.

"Call him," he said in a bitter sigh of defeat, flicking his eyes down to the keys in his hands. "Tell him I'm coming to pick him up. You go sit down -- you're in no condition to drive. I'll be back in a bit."

A gentle smile tugged at Shiro's lips, and he gave Matt the quietest little 'thank you.' Matt responded with nothing but a grumble, and then shooed Shiro off to the couch. Smirking a little, Shiro limped his way to the sofa and sat down, wincing at the ache in his chest as he eased against the backrest. He called a weak goodbye and the usual 'drive safe!' to Matt before his friend left, sighing in the silence of the apartment after Matt had slipped through and closed the door. Shiro then pulled out his phone, and tapped onto Keith's contact -- pressing the call button and raising the phone up to his ear.

It rang a few times before Shiro heard the click of an answer and a dreary 'hey' from the other end.

"Hey, Keith," he said quietly, laying his head back. "I, uh, sent Matt to come pick you up. I hope that's alright. Something happened -- I tripped and hurt my leg. I'm not really in the condition to drive. At least that's what Matt says."

"Alright," Keith murmured after a few moments, though he really didn't want Matt to come and collect him. "So how long will it be before you get here? Or Matt gets here?" He pushed himself up onto the counter again, sighing softly. "Kosmo isn't awake yet and I don't want him to get hyper five minutes before I have to leave." He ran his fingers through his hair, which was tangled and messy, his black eye still badly swollen and heavily bruised.

How fucking typical it always was for Matt to interrupt and take over everything. Now Shiro couldn't even drive? He was fine. He wasn't concussed anymore and some burn wasn't going to stop him from being able to use his leg entirely. Maybe Keith was just bitter but he was getting really sick of Matt being so protective of Shiro over the littlest things.

Shiro shrugged his shoulders a little. "Usually takes me a little under ten minutes to get to your place from mine," he answered, lifting a hand to prod at that mark beneath his ear. It was beginning to itch -- he knew that was a good sign for burns, that it was healing and scabbing over. That didn't mean it wasn't annoying, especially with those bandages crossed over it. "You can bring Kos' along... just make sure he doesn't scratch up the car. And I'd rather he doesn't jump on me. Uh... on top of everything I'm kinda sick."

He came up with that on the spot -- it would explain the chest pain and the coughing. Shiro smiled to himself a little.

"If you want I can probably call Matt and ask him to get some food, too. He has one of my cards on him," he proposed, taking his hand from the spot on his neck. "Anything you want to eat?"

"I'll make sure to take him to every fast food place I find," he said. "Just to inconvenience Matt. Is that good with you?" Keith grumbled a little and wiped his tired eyes, not sure whether he was joking or not, tempted to drag Matt around everywhere that he could for no reason other than to irritate him. It sounded like a good idea, just for a little bit of amusement on his end. "But I'll figure out what I want when I'm with Matt, don't worry too much. What did you do to hurt your leg?"

Shiro forced himself to give a snort of a laugh, and then forced himself to hold back the hiss of pain that the augh caused his broken ribs. "Oh, it was dumb," Shiro said, still smiling in spite of himself. "I was kinda sleep deprived -- working too much I guess. Tripped over Atlas halfway down the stairs. You know how she likes to curl around my ankles and stuff. Banged up my face pretty good, too -- it's awful."

Hm. That wasn't too bad. He would have to wait for Keith to see him to know if he believed the lie or not. Luckily the bruises and scabs across his face weren't really caused from punches -- it would be easier to lie about them.

"It's nothing though," Shiro continued, sighing a bit. "I've had worse. And I can't stay mad at Attie or anything. I mean, she is blind."

"She knocked you down some stairs?" Keith asked, grinning a little. Even if he knew it was a lie the story was pretty amusing so he'd entertain it for a little longer. "She might be blind but she's a ruthless killer, man. She's trying to get your money."

He hesitated, hearing a car pull up, and told Shiro that Matt must have arrived before hanging up, not giving him room to respond. He slid off of the counter and went to the door, checking that it was one of Shiro's cars before leaving the house and locking the door behind him, starting to where Matt was waiting.   
"Hey," he said when he opened the door, sliding into the passenger side. "Thanks for picking me up."

Matt started to say that it was no problem, turning his head to offer Keith a little grin, but he lost his words -- eyes shooting open wide at the sight of Keith's bruised face and bloody nose. "Holy shit!" he nearly cried, spinning his body around in his seat to face Keith completely. "Is that blood? What happened to you?"

Once the initial shock at the sight of Keith's messed up face, however, Matt began to feel some strange suspicion rise up in his chest. Those bruises had all come from punches -- some were darker than others, fresher, of course... but others looked to be one or two days old. The sight made his skin crawl.

Nonetheless, he reached for the glove compartment, shifting through Shiro's things for a little package of tissues. Once he had that, and grabbed a water bottle from one of the cup holders and held both out for Keith. "Clean yourself up," he muttered tightly, not even trying to keep the bitterness from his tone. "You're going to give Shiro a fucking heart attack."

Rolling his eyes, Keith complied with the command and began to wipe his face clean, his eyes flicking to Matt as he wiped his blood from his face.  
"I just got into another fight," he said. "With someone bigger than me. I lost, clearly, but whatever. I'm not too badly fucked up. Why aren't you all bruised and fucked up? Shiro's bruised, from what I heard, I'm bloody, what about you? Go do me a favour and let someone fuck you up." He smiled a little, scrunching up the tissue and tucking it into his pocket.

When he didn't get a response- fairly so- he spoke up again.

"Shiro said that we could get food wherever we wanted. I want to go everywhere that we can- I'm starving, man."

Matt grit his teeth a little, and mumbled something about being sorry he even asked. He turned back properly in his seat, and, after starting the car he asked Keith where he wanted to go. Of course, as Keith had promised Shiro, Matt was then forced to drive Keith to nearly every fast food place in town. Keith didn't even let up when Matt told him that they probably shouldn't have been spending so much of Shiro's money. Matt had basically driving up and down Voltropolis about three times before they had gotten back to Shiro's apartment. To make matters even more annoying, Matt was the one holding all of the bags -- the only thing Keith held were the drinks, and that was only because he wanted to start sipping on his soda as they rode the elevator up to Shiro's floor. Matt was just lucky Keith didn't shut Shiro's door in his face as he strolled in, his hands were too full to even reach the doorknob. He had to close it with his foot once he had gotten into the apartment, grumbling to himself.

Shiro leaned up when Keith and Matt had gotten back, clicking off his phone and abandoning his conversation with Curtis as he pushed up a little on the couch. It didn't take him long to recognize the puffiness of Keith's face -- to recognize the bruises and the pink stains left over from dried blood. His entire face fell at the sight. Shiro started to get up, but a sharp snap from Matt stopped him.

"Calm down, Shiro -- it's just a busted nose and a black eye," Matt said, voice still a little dark as he carried all of the food bags over to the coffee table. He set them all down with a huff, and leaned back up, pointing a finger at Shiro on the couch. "Stay there. Don't get up. Keith is fine. He doesn't need your help."

Matt didn't add the 'and he doesn't deserve it, either' that had been resting on his tongue, of course.

Unconvinced, Shiro flicked his nervous stare back up to Keith. He studied the marks for a moment or so, just as Matt did in the car. There was no denying that most of the damage was fresh. Fresh enough to be maybe hours old. Some of those bruises and scabs, however, were older. Dark and swelled up enough to be newer than the others, but settled enough to be maybe two or three days old.

Two days...

"What happened?" Shiro blurted, trying to chase away that creeping sense of dread again. "Who did that to you? When?"

"I got into a fight this morning," he said with a slight shrug. "I was called to meet with someone and I said some dumb shit that got me punched." He slumped down into place beside Shiro, offering him a hot chocolate that Keith had been sure to pick up for him. He took a few more sips of his coffee before taking one of the bags from Matt's arm and beginning to eat, sighing a little. "It's nothing huge. Don't worry so much about it. And what, you fell down the stairs and did all that? Come on, tell me where the rest of the bruises came from and I might let you off."

He glanced at Matt, noting the look that he was given with a smug sense of pride before he turned his focus back to Shiro. He was pretending not to notice the way that Shiro looked at him as if something had just clicked perfectly in his mind. It was unsettling. Keith didn't want to address it and he was hoping it was something that wasn't going to be brought up. Even more than that, he was hoping it wasn't relevant to the other day and that Shiro hadn't pieced together something crucial. He didn't have a backup plan for if Shiro accused him of anything. He didn't have any plan for what he'd do without Shiro. It wasn't like he could avoid Shiro the way Shiro could have avoided him. He was a nobody compared to the famous golden boy that Shiro was, broadcasted live for every little thing he did.

Shiro bit his bottom lip and brought at hand up to his head, as if to hide some of the bruises from Keith as he turned away, gripping the hot chocolate a little too tight in his hands. "Really, it was the stairs. I told you it was bad," he mumbled, looking up at Matt for some help. Matt just shrugged, his face blank, and set more bags down on the coffee table before fishing through one for two cardboard boxes of fries. When Shiro looked back at Keith he could see the clear disbelief.

Shiro quickly tried to brew up another lie.

"I may have gotten... into a little thing," Shiro mumbled, forcing a blush and a nervous averting of his eyes. "I was downtown doing some charity work. Some guy tried to snatch my watch -- took a swing. I got him back though... you couldn't believe what a metal arm could do. Knocked him out cold. Right Matt?"

Matt looked up at him, and shrugged. Shiro could tell something was wrong with him... something was on his mind. Shiro let his eyes drift back to Keith, some worry brewing up in his chest. He hoped Matt wouldn't say anything. His unusually stiff, cool nature was enough to ruin the atmosphere on it's own.

Shiro shook his head a little, sighing as he set his hot chocolate down on the coffee table. "But, uh, that was just a few days ago. I'm fine -- the cold doesn't help, but I'm okay," he mumbled.

Keith didn't seem to care enough to answer with anything but a nod of his head, and Matt was brooding and quiet, so the room easily fell into a tight little silence. Shiro pretended not to notice -- and at the same time, he prayed that Keith wouldn't notice. He was sure the source of the tension either radiated from Matt's occasional glares or the nervous fidgeting from Shiro. He was also sure it was only a matter of time before Keith would say something about it.

"So, uh, I guess we match, huh Keith?" Shiro asked, laughing a little. He mentally kicked himself at how awkward he sounded, but he hoped it didn't matter. All that mattered was easing up on the heavy nature of the room's atmosphere. He looked to Keith, and waited for some uninterested response.

But the moment Keith parted his lips to speak, Matt spoke up, voice loud and stoic sounding.

"Hey, Keith?" he asked, leaning forwards a bit. "Just curious, where were you on Thursday night?"

Shiro tensed up, and shot him a fast glare, eyes narrowed and features set in a look of pure warning. He didn't say anything, of course, but he hoped his glare conveyed his message. That was too blunt of a move. Too harsh of a tone. There was no need for it -- no need at all.

Keith frowned a little.  
"What are you, a cop?" he asked, laughing a little. He knew exactly why Matt was asking, sighing a little and pulling out his phone to open a conversation with Lance. It was a routine by now. He needed an alibi in case something like this happened so every time he went out he'd text Lance to be picked up. On Thursday, Keith had promised that he was free all evening to go out with him, to wherever Lance chose.

Time to put his alibi to use.

"I was with Lance. He invited me to the donut shop downtown and offered to pay and everything." He showed Matt and Shiro his phone, as if evidence was demanded. "But I left my phone at home after he picked me up so I wouldn't have known if you'd texted. I didn't get back until sometime in the morning. I texted him a goodnight, see? Why? Was something going on? Because I don't think you'd ask about my exact whereabouts on a certain day unless something happened. Where were you on Thursday?"

Matt wasn't phased by the question. He simply gave his own frown, and shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I was just asking a question, Keith. I didn't ask for proof," he said, voice quiet -- painfully innocent. Shiro was still glaring at him, urging him to stop, even if Keith's rather defensive answer seemed to make his skin simply crawl. Matt ignored the stare, and looked Keith up and down. "I was just wondering where you got those bruises from. Yeah, some are new, but others look a few days old. Maybe Thursday old? Did you get mugged too, or was it just Shiro who got unlucky while he was downtown?"

Before Keith could answer, Shiro added one last thing. "I-I'm sorry Keith, Matt's just not in a good mood. You can ignore him if you want to," he said, shaking his head. He could tell Keith was getting more and more panicked by Matt's questioning -- it made Shiro's whole system flood with that dread from those few nights ago. Even if he didn't know anything about the Red Flame or about Keith himself, it didn't take an genius to know that Keith was trying to hide something

"Matt, fucking hell," Keith said as he pushed himself off of the couch. "You're asking me for my whereabouts like I'm a suspect for a fucking murder. Do you think I mugged Shiro or something? Because you're acting like you think that I did."

Keith pushed past Matt, shoving him out of the way a little more forcefully than necessary, and started through to the kitchen to sit alone. "Fuck you!" he snapped to Matt. "I can't even visit without being treated like I'm some fucking basket case! I shouldn't have wasted my time coming here!"

By now he knew he was being dramatic. He knew he was playing it up and that he shouldn't be putting this much effort into something so pointless and he knew that it was only getting more and more suspicious the more riled up he got but first he was beaten for wanting to get his money and next Matt was getting suspicious and interrogating him, in front of Shiro, as if he could catch him out and turn his only friend against him at the same time.

The second that Keith was out of earshot, Shiro turned to Matt and stood up from the sofa, pretending it didn't hurt his leg to stand up so fast.

"What the hell was that, Matt?" he said, trying to keep his voice hushed. His heart was beating fast in his chest, nerves and guilt flushing through him like poison as Keith's parting shouts ran through his head like an echo. "Why would you do that?"

Matt put a hand on his head and rolled his eyes. "You saw the bruises on his face, didn't you?" he snapped back in a harsh whisper. "Don't you think that it's a little odd Keith always seems to get beaten up by thieves right after you fight Red? I know you're not that much of an idiot Shiro! I'm just looking at the basic facts here. You know it's weird too -- you told me yourself, Shiro!"

Shiro grit his teeth. "When I was high on pain meds!" he argued, voice growing a little louder than he had meant it to. He snapped his head towards the kitchen, waiting a good few moments before he went on, much quieter and a little calmer than before. "Look, Matt. I barely meant anything I said. It was just me being paranoid, okay? There's... there's no way Keith could ever..." 

He trailed off, not wanted to finish the thought out loud. Neither of them had ever really said it before -- neither of them seemed able to thread all of the words together to create such an outrageous idea. Shiro didn't even feel as though he could even think the phrase without feeling sick.

Keith couldn't be the Red Flame. It just wasn't a possibility... Shiro wouldn't allow it to be a possibility.

"Shiro, think," Matt hissed, crossing his arms. "Why didn't he kill you? Why did he wait until you said something about Keith to kill you?"

Shiro gave an angry scoff. "The other night you said it was because he was just a dumb kid," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Keith is just a dumb kid!" Matt shot back, a little too loud for Shiro's comfort. Thankfully, when he spoke again, his voice was nothing but a whisper "He's a dumb kid who is taking advantage of you. He knows how much you care about him, and he knows he has you wrapped around his finger. You should have seen him today! All of this food he made me drive around to get? He knew that was your card. You might see him as some sad little kid with no parents but the Keith I know isn't too damn far away from being a murderer."

Shiro, turned away, huffing out a deep, angry breath. "That isn't true," he said, shaking his head. "Matt, he's my friend."

"I'm your friend, Shiro!" Matt snapped. "And I'm telling you that Keith isn't some precious angel. I'm telling you that he doesn't care about you the way you care about him. I'm also telling you there's really fucking good chance that Keith might be involved with Red somehow. I know you love him, Shiro. I know you do -- but please, just think."

Shiro didn't respond. He just sat back down on the couch, still shaking his head. He wanted to keep denying Matt's claims -- he wanted to argue with him and fight for Keith's honor until he was blue in the face. But Shiro... Shiro couldn't. He had no strong points. He had no proof of Keith's innocence aside from those shady, vague texts Keith had on his phone. There was plenty of points to support Matt, of course -- plenty of points Shiro wouldn't listen to, sure, but they were points nonetheless. There was certainly hard evidence that Keith didn't care about Shiro as much as he wished he did... but Shiro had already come to terms with that.

But he couldn't come to terms with the idea that Keith had been a murderer. He couldn't come to terms with the idea that Keith could have even been involved with a murderer. He couldn't...

He wouldn't.

Keith knew it. Of course they'd been plotting. Matt knew it was him and it was a matter of time before Shiro came arouna and submitted to Matt's insisting. It was a matter of time before he was registered as a threat and abandoned or executed. So he had to take action and prove them wrong, prove that it wasn't him.

He was stood in the kitchen, his eyes flicking around the room, slowly fixing on the oven with a plastic cup resting on the stove and Black pawing at the dials and an idea came to mind. A bad one, yes, but perhaps the only one that he had. He walked over to the oven and did Black a favour, turning two of the dials. The one below the cup was turned up fully and the one next to it was turned halfway to seem less like Keith had just turned them both and more like Black had swiped at them. He checked that the stove was heating up and when he was content, he moved back and pressed against the wall.

His eyes fixed on that little plastic cup, waiting for it to begin to melt, knowing that it would take a while but eventually it would catch fire. That was his plan, after all, as stupid as it definitely was.

And he had until that thing caught fire to throw himself into a panic attack that would put Matt off of his scent hopefully forever.

So his eyes fixed on the stove and he decided that he was going to fixate on a memory that always caused a churning discomfort, filling him with anxiety that made him sick to his stomach and made his head rush. He slumped against the wall, moving his hands to grip his hair as he reimagined the fire that grew from the broken oven in his home when he was just six years old. The fire that killed his father.

The first fire that he started.

It was an accident. Of course it was. He wasn't sure if that was something he'd just gotten so used to telling people that he'd started to believe it or if it was true. All he knew was that he had been messing with the oven- trying to cook breakfast, most likely, and the next thing he knew half of the kitchen was on fire. He could remember the heat on his skin, the way that it tickled against his arm as it tried to devour him. He could remember the shrieking of the smoke alarm and the loud footsteps as his dad had woken up and come to the kitchen. He remembered being pushed through to the living room- being told it wasn't a big deal, it could be dealt with, being told that he could explain everything when the fire was put out. He remembered having the phone pushed into his hand and being sent outside to call the fire brigade. He could remember being halfway through giving his address when the explosion rang out, sending glass shards everywhere, knocking him off of his feet and sending him back a few metres. He remembered pushing himself up off of the dirty, dusty floor, his skin covered in ash, sliced with glass, and shouting for his dad.

If he tried hard enough, sometimes he could recall the repressed memory of his father being seen just within the doorway, trying to leave when the explosion occured. If he really hated himself, he sometimes curled up and thought of how close his father had been to getting to the door. How many more steps it could have taken for him to be shot outside with a few burn scars instead of being burned to death inside of his shitty hut. Sometimes, on his worst days- usually his father's birthday or death day- he would sit in front of the door and watch the space where his father must have been stood when he'd died. Like he expected him to come back. Like he expected to go back almost eighteen years in a heartbeat to be with his father in that moment or to help him get out while he could.

He was running through the traumatic memory again and again, forcing it through his brain, reminding himself of the heat on his skin until he could almost feel it, forcing himself through that same sensation of pure terror until he could feel it eating away at him, gnawing at his mind, bringing tears to his eyes and making his head swim. He was overwhelmed. He rarely had panic attacks anymore- Shiro knew that he only had one every blue moon, but he could still recognise the way that dread enveloped him and digested him, eating away at his flesh and making his eyes burn with unshed tears. His breathing was starting to struggle, to pick up and then to falter. He couldn't breathe at all one moment, like he was drowning, and the next he was gasping for oxygen like he'd resurfaced.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his blood rushing through his ears, and he could only barely pick up on the sound of the smoke alarm over it- though the blaring alarm was far from helpful when that further induced the memories of his father grabbing his shoulders, promising him it would be okay, sending him outside with the grin that he never seemed to lose. Not even when his stupid six year old kid burned the house down and killed him.

Tears were spilling down his cheeks by now, the alarm still ringing, the plastic cup just a melted flaming pile as the fire began to climb onto the counter, growing, getting brighter and hotter and flickering in Keith's vision as his eyes, wide and blurred with tears, fixed on the floor. He could see the amber glow and it almost made him feel the heat on his skin again. He could feel the warmth and the pain even though nothing was touching him. Even though the fire was metres away. He was shaking. His hands were trembling. His breathing ragged. His body was shaking with the force of his sobbing and hyperventilating.

He was dizzy. Sweating, though from the heat or from the panic attack he couldn't tell. He was digging his nails into his arms and didn't even realise, unable to hear the door opening, unable to fixate on anything but his own overwhelming thoughts and pounding head.

'God, this better fucking be worth it', he could remember himself thinking, though the thought seemed to echo through his mind like it came from someone else.

Shiro and Matt had both given each other a rather quizzical look the moment the smell of burning plastic began to settle about the apartment, but the second the fire alarm began it's shrill chirping, they each seemed to jump up from their confused stupor. They were in the kitchen in maybe three seconds flat, even with Shiro's limp. The first thing they both noticed was a trembling Keith pressed up against the wall, his eyes wide and glazed over, spilling with tears as his body racked with strange, almost hollow fast paced breaths. Then they followed his blank, panic-stricken glare over to a growing fire over Shiro's stove, the flames climbing up towards the kitchen hood, crackling beneath the cry of the smoke alarm.

The next few events passed by in what felt like a single second. Shiro had started towards the stove, but Matt put a hand on his chest and told him very quickly to go to Keith instead. Next, while Shiro stood a bit protectively in front of Keith, both to keep him from seeing the flame and to keep the growing fire from getting to him, Matt dashed to the space beside the refrigerator where the fire extinguisher was kept and unhinged it off from its place on the wall. An instant later, the loud roar of that white, foamy substance called out along with the beeps from the alarm and the crackling of the fire and the wheezing from Keith behind Shiro. The flame died down enough for Matt to reach his hand back to shut the stovetop off, and then he sprayed it again -- he sprayed until the stove was nothing but a messy heap of white, smoking foam that bubbled and fizzed over the heat of the previous fire. He dropped the fire extinguisher down to the floor with a heavy clatter, and stepped backwards, panting for breath as he looked the damage up and down before turning back to Shiro.

"Is Keith okay?" Matt asked breathlessly, snapping Shiro from his daze.

Shiro's eyes widened and he spun around, starting to reach towards Keith's arm with his hand, but halting rather abruptly the moment he noticed the rather telltale signs of an anxiety attack present in Keith's demeanor. His breathing was rapid and empty, his skin pale and covered in a sheen of shining sweat. His eyes were still trained on the stove behind Shiro -- wide, unblinking, constricted pupils and all. Shiro took his hand back and side stepped in front of the stove, trying to block Keith's view. His eyes ran down Keith's body, checking for burn wounds. When he found none, Shiro flicked his gaze up to Keith's unfocused one.

"Keith? Hey, Keith -- buddy, look at me," he said very slowly. His voice was cautiously loud -- not soft enough to be lost beneath the smoke alarm, but not loud enough to frighten Keith. "It's alright Keith. The fire's out -- we took care of it. Everything's okay. Keith? Are you with me, buddy?"

With the utmost amount of tentativeness, Shiro settled his hand on Keith's arm, feeling him start beneath the touch and then instantly pulling his hand back. At least the gesture had snapped Keith from whatever terrified daze he had been in -- Shiro watched as his glassy eyes gained some more consciousness, and flick up to Shiro's features.

Shiro swallowed hard, and tipped his head forwards a bit. The smell of smoke made him want to cough -- the smell of melted plastic made him want to gag. The room was growing hazy with the fumes and from the excess powder from the white foam of the extinguisher . He could already hear Matt coughing a bit behind him.

"Keith? Hey, I need to get you out of here, okay?" he said, slowly settling his hand back down against Keith's arm. "Come on -- the fire's taken care of. It's gone. Let's get you somewhere else. Matt and I can take care of everything, okay? Just... just come here. Let's go."

Keith fumbled for a moment as he grabbed onto Shiro's arm, wanting to use Shiro to ground himself, needing to hold onto someone if he wanted to have any chance of recovering and just needing Shiro for that. He wouldn't trust anyone else enough in this situation and he desperately needed to be able to grip to someone he trusted. He didn't say anything, his body weak, his head swimming and his thoughts hazy but Shiro was clear. Shiro's voice had been clear. Shiro's words and reassurance had cut through the barrier around him that made everything he saw or everything he listened to blur out. He just clutched Shiro's arm, letting himself be dragged outside on his wobbly legs. He felt Shiro's arm around him to keep him upright and couldn't help but lean into it, the support being so important to him now that he couldn't bring himself to pull back. He just let Shiro take him to sit on the couch in the living room, hugging his knees to his chest with one hand while his other hand stayed settled on Shiro's forearm, gripping onto him as if his life depended on it.

Still, he didn't say anything. Still, his eyes were glassy and his head pounded. Still, he could barely focus on anything long enough to use it to calm down, his nails beginning to dig into Shiro more and more.

Shiro, even though he knew Keith wouldn't respond, spoke to Keith in a very quiet tone. For the first few minutes of them sitting there together on the sofa, Shiro made sure Keith knew that everything was alright. That the fire was out. That Shiro was sorry there was even a fire in the first place. That Matt was taking care of everything. Though, as Keith's breathing began to settle, Shiro moved on to talk about different things. He talked about work, and then he talked about Black and Atlas. Shiro just wanted the room to keep from falling silent. Shiro just wanted Keith to have something constant and stable to hold onto while he recovered -- whether it was his voice or his arm.

After what had to have been maybe twenty minutes, Matt came into the living room, wiping his hands off on his shirt. The whole apartment smelled like burning plastic by then -- it was even more powerful than the smoke. Shiro was sure the smell would stick around for a few more days at least, but he didn't let himself complain about it. Not around Keith anyways.

"How is everything?" he asked Matt, cocking his head. "I would have helped..." Shiro trailed off, flicking his eyes down to Keith's grip on his arm. His muscles were starting to ache with how tightly Keith's fingernails had been digging into his skin. He shook his head a little and dropped it.

Matt offered a wan smile. "It's fine," he assured, shrugging his shoulders. "I turned off the smoke alarm, cleaned up as much foam as I could, and then I tried getting rid of all the plastic. It's kinda melted onto your stove -- I got as much as I could."

Shiro nodded. "That's alright. I'll take care of it," he assured. Shiro looked down to Keith, and settled one of his hands on Keith's shoulder, furrowing his brow a little bit as he tried to catch his eye. "You hear that, Keith? It's alright. Matt took care of everything. We're okay."

By then, Keith's breathing had been regulated and his shoulders slumped as he let Shiro be his anchor. He was still trembling, still a little dizzy, and he wasn't in a good mental space but he was recovering. Slowly but surely.

It wasn't for a long while that he managed to release Shiro's arm, and it wasn't for a few moments after that that he could bring himself to talk, still trembling like a leaf.  
"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his eyes a little with his sleeves and keeping his shameful gaze averted from Shiro. "I don't know what happened- there- there was fire- and then I just- I couldn't breathe-" This bit was easy to fake. As long as he mentioned that the fire had set him off it would be fine. It would work fine. He could see Matt's face twist with guilt in the corner, likely as a result of the accusations followed up by seeing how badly fire affected him. It must have been a good show. Convincing. He needed that.

He shifted a little closer to Shiro, his desire for closeness not being forced this time. He just wanted to stick by Shiro's side for the comfort it gave him. He wouldn't be able to cope without it.

Shiro, noticing how Keith had moved a little closer, opening up his arms a bit -- raising one of them up to lay over the backrest of the couch so Keith could fit on his chest if he wanted to. He moved his other hand to settle on Keith's arm, leaning his head close to try and catch Keith's eye.

"Don't worry about it, Keith," Shiro said softly, shaking his head a little. "I... I'm sorry I let it happen. Black likes to mess with the dials -- I should have known it was only a matter of time before she accidentally turned on the stove."

He gave Matt a sidewards glance, swallowing hard before he flicked it back to the trembling Keith. There was the heavy impulse to wrap his arms around him -- to pull him close and comfort him. To soothe the tremors from his wound up muscles. To gently wipe the tears away with the backs of his fingers. To... to maybe even kiss him -- just on the forehead or something like that... just to... just to make him feel better...

But Shiro couldn't do any of that. All he could do was try to make Keith as comfortable as he could. And Keith was never one for intimacy of such a level.

"Do... do you need anything?" he asked, rubbing his hand up and down Keith's arm just a bit. Shiro could see Keith's eyes going glassy again -- he wanted to keep him from falling back down into his daze. "I could take you upstairs and you could lie down for a bit? Or... or if you want to go home I could take you-"

"We could take you," Matt chimed in, cutting Shiro a little short. "Shiro could sit in the back with you while I drive."

Shiro gave a soft huff of air, but he didn't comment, turning his attention back to Keith. "Really Keith. If you need anything, I... we'll take care of it," he said, nodding his head.   
"You will?" he mumbled, his eyes fixing on Shiro after a moment despite how they barely focused on him. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves again, even though there were no more tears staining his cheeks. Being at home sounded good now. Being wrapped up in his filthy bed with Kosmo sleeping by him and piles and piles of food that he'd bullied Matt into getting him. "Check the oven first," he then added, though his voice was barely any louder, as he wiped away his tears again and sniffled.

He slumped with his head against Shiro's chest, learning into him and his semi-embrace, letting the comfort soothe his nerves. He was never going to do that again. Triggering a panic attack like that- forcing himself through it- had been hell. Hopefully that would be it and he could go back to never experiencing that again.

 

Glancing at Matt, Keith murmured again, louder this time."Go check the oven," he said as if it were a demand, before his eyes closed and he listened to the sound of Shiro's heartbeat with his ear to his chest. "Then we can go..."


	14. A Friendly Chat

It was a nice day out. Finally, the weather seemed to want to warm up. The air was springy and fresh, laced with the light smells of flowers and the sweet aroma of freshly cut grass. Shiro was far enough outside of the main heart of the city that the garbage trucks and clouds of diesel and the accustomed smog weren't so strong. It was nice and quiet as Shiro strolled up the white paved pathway that cut through a healthy yard of fresh green grass. Instead of car horns there were birds that weren't pigeons and instead of machinery there were the sounds of wind winding its way through leaves. He was far enough away from the bustle to really catch a glimpse of nature outside of city life. Shiro always liked going to his friend's manor for that very reason, actually.

Saying Lotor knew how to take care of his property was an understatement, really. It almost made Shiro want a handsome manner of his own.

Either Lotor or one of his servants had already buzzed Shiro in the front gates, but Shiro left his car at the foot of the driveway, wanting to take the rest of the way on foot. Luckily his leg had healed rather fantastically -- sure, there was still a slight limp, and he had a gnarled sort of burn scar that would likely raise some eyebrows at the spa, but a couple sneaky hundred dollar bills under the table would easily settle the confusion. There was little to no pain in his ribs, too -- which Matt said was lucky. Shiro didn't know how he was able to heal so fast, but he was sure a lot of it had to be Matt. He was put on house arrest for maybe a week before Matt let him go off to work again, and even then Matt drove him. As much as Shiro hated it, Matt's overprotective nursing seemed to do the trick. He was back on his feet. Back to work. Back to being the Black Paladin, too, working like mad to try and learn a little more about Red and his bosses.

That was what he was doing at Lotor's, actually. Which was selfish, of course. He could feel the guilt brewing somewhere in his stomach as he knocked on the fine oaken door to Lotor's grand home. Shiro had no right to ask about it -- not to mention he knew how uncomfortable Lotor would get whenever the topic of the Galra would rarely surface.

But... Shiro's only link to them had been Lotor. Aside from the servers and the links of course, but those proved to be dangerous. Shiro knew Lotor had information on them, and he was damn near desperate at that point.

He stepped back, wondering if it would be a maid or a butler opening the door -- and then just wondering if Lotor would open the door himself. He didn't really care, as long as he could see him. It had been awhile since they had spoken to one another. Maybe a formal dinner party or something of the other... there was never really much contact outside of those. Which was an odd way to treat such a close friend.

Lotor was one out of the two people that knew Shiro's secret alter ego.

The door opened after a few moments, revealing Lotor to be the one to open it. Shiro had messaged him about meeting the day before and Lotor had dressed for the occasion, wanting to look his best for when he met with an old friend for the first time in what must have been months. They lived different lives and rarely had time to meet- Lotor had had to clear his schedule to make time for a meeting today and as they hadn't settled on an exact time, and Shiro hadn't mentioned how long he could have been staying, Lotor couldn't just cancel one meeting or one appointment.

He wore a bespoke suit- a white blazer, with lavender decals along the hems of the sleeves and the inside lining of his breast pocket, while the collar and the sleeves were ornately decorated with embroidery in silver threat, and white pants to match while the shirt underneath was black to provide contrast. His hair was tied back into a neat fishtail braid, still reaching halfway down his thighs even while it was tied back tightly. His nails were done, too, nude in colour but sharpened to a point, his makeup fairly natural. Eyeliner, shimmering nude eyeshadow, highlight and contour. His eyebrows were filled and his lips were glossed over with a nude shine but that was it.

His lips curled into a smile when the door was open, knowing who was there, opening his arms to offer Shiro a hug in greeting.  
"It's about time that we meet again," he said, British accent a stark contrast to the American accents heard everywhere else around here. "It's been too long, truly. I've missed your company." It was nice that Lotor never commented on how rough Shiro looked. He never pointed out the bags under his eyes or the slouch to his posture. He never commented on anything like that- though he couldn't really help it. Due to an incident a number of years back, one he refused to talk about, he was blind. His eyes, purple due to a genetic mutation, were glassy and dull. One of his servants, standing a little to his left, carried Lotor's cane in one hand. He'd gone for one that matched his outfit today, with a black body and a white handle, decorated with a little lavender and carrying the Galra crest on top.

Shiro offered a grand smile, and graciously accepted the hug, squeezing Lotor nice and tight before giving him a gentle pat on the back. He pulled away after a moment, settling a hand on Lotor's arm and leaving it there.

"God, it really has been too long, hasn't it?" Shiro said, laughing a little. "I have to admit I've missed the sound of your voice, man. I wish I was here on better terms..." he trailed off, flicking his eyes down to the ground. Shiro only spared vague details when he messaged Lotor the night before, but he made sure that Lotor would know them meeting up wasn't just a friendly get together.

Shiro gave a soft sigh and shook his head a little. He gave Lotor's arm a soft pat. "Let's head in, yeah? I've got a lot to tell you."

They traveled back into Lotor's beautiful home, the tap of Shiro's shoes and the slight scrape of Lotor's cane on the polished marble floors echoing up into the grand hall of Lotor's greeting room. Shiro tried not to gawk, even if Lotor couldn't see him do it. Both the interior and the exterior were gorgeous -- the designs were old, but artistic and victorian. Shiro couldn't get enough of the art carved into white stone structures or the paneling of the long winding staircases. He was always quite the sucker for such exquisite taste. If he didn't love the city so much, Shiro might have started saving for such a handsome house of his own.

Of course his would likely never be as big as Lotor's. Lotor was... stupidly rich. He might have had three times as much money in his bank account than Shiro had under his entire family name.

Lotor lead Shiro to the study -- where they normally would sit and talk whenever Shiro would visit. A servant or two, as usual, would scurry up to Shiro as he moved through the manner and offer drinks or sweets. At first Shiro respectfully denied anything, but as he settled down in one of the plush chairs of Lotor's study he couldn't really say no to the cup of steaming tea they set down in front of him on the glass table. Shiro sipped it gingerly as Lotor eased down into his own chair across from him, waiting until Lotor was settled before he spoke again.

"I have... a lot of problems," Shiro mumbled, swallowing hard. He set the cup of tea back down on its saucer, and pushed himself up in his chair a bit. "I know I always come crawling to you with problems, and I hate to bug you with them but... I'm starting to get to the end of my rope here, Lotor."

"Please, Shiro," Lotor began, settled back in his chair, his eyes fixed on where Shiro's voice was coming from and his brow furrowed in concern. "Don't burn yourself out dancing around the issue. Tell me directly what's happening. I only cleared one day of my schedule so I don't have time for you to stutter out every apology and sympathetic introduction that you can think of."

Shiro couldn't help but snort, stifling the rest of his giggle. "Funny you would chose the words 'burned out'," he snickered, shaking his head. "That's one of the big problems, really."

Lotor sat up a little more, reaching out for his own cup of tea and brushing his fingertips along the table until they bumped the saucer beneath it. He turned the cup until he could hook his fingers around the handle, bringing the cup to his lips. He took a sip, still fixing his eyes on Shiro as if that would help pressure Shiro to answer properly.  
"I'll assume it's about this vigilante still. The 'Red Flame', if I remember correctly from the news reports? Whoever they are, they're a coward. I wouldn't usually go directly to insulting someone but I've never heard of someone more cowardly than a monster in a suit- who, from the reports, isn't even five and a half feet tall- and kills people by setting their house on fire from the bottom floor so they can't escape, fleeing the scene before anyone could notice. It's shameful and cowardly."

He set down his cup again.

"There haven't been any reports in the last week, however, but I heard you limping when you walked. Have you gotten into another fight recently?"

Shiro gave the gentlest huff, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "You really don't miss anything, huh?" he asked, blushing a little. After a slight pause -- one where Lotor didn't laugh back at his little joke -- Shiro sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "This guy... he's killed too many people. I've failed to stop him too many times. I thought I could handle him but he upgraded his weapon. He got me real bad in a fight. Got really close to killing me... I really don't know why he didn't. He had me pinned to the ground and everything, but he just... didn't. I got burns all over my calf, broken ribs, and I'm pretty sure there's a little bit of brain damage."

He caught himself in his rambling, and blinked a little before leaning forwards. "Anyways, Matt and I have hacked into servers and lists to try and scope out their new victims and... hell, Lotor, you should see it- wait... well, uh, shit. You know what I mean." Shiro paused, watching Lotor's lips curl into a teasing smile before he went on. "They're gunning for company owners. Powerful people. I'm even on their suspect list. You're not there, thank God... but it's still really bad. Recently Matt got into another one of their systems... and we found out the name of the group Red is working for..."

Shiro stopped talking for a long moment or so, wondering if he really should have been telling Lotor all of that. If he really should have been dragging Lotor in that mess. It look a encouraging nod from Lotor to let him continue, but even then his voice was low and guilty.

"Lotor... I came here for help because... because I think all of this has something to do with the Galra."

It took a few moments for Lotor to respond, his body tensing noticeably, his hands curling into fists and digging the tips of his manicured nails into the palms of his hand.  
"You think it has something to do with them so you come to me," he murmured, running the information Shiro had told him through his mind. "Do you believe that I can wave my hand and all of your questions will be answered? Do you imagine that in my chest lies a heart of stone and that it won't be difficult for me to answer some questions if they reach personal areas? Takashi," he pressed on, using Shiro's first name as if it were a warning. "You'd better have prepared your questions. I'm not wasting my day listening to you interrogate me for answers I might not even have."

The tension was so obvious in his frame. His shoulders squared, teeth grit, his chest tightening at the thought of the topic. His brow had furrowed, too, though this time with frustration over care. This topic was a touchy area, Shiro had known that much, but perhaps if Lotor had had a warning the night before that Shiro planned on asking him such personal questions he would have readied himself mentally for it. If this topic went into any personal areas, it might shake Lotor so badly that it triggers intense negative reactions. When his mood wasn't extreme, he was calm. He could be stoic. He could put himself into whatever frame of mind he was obligated to be in for his meetings, his discussions, whatever. If he was thrown so badly that his mood reached the worse end of the scale, he could become volatile. Erratic. The worst case scenario was a few broken plates/cups and some shouting. The best case scenario was being enveloped in apathy and leaving without a word. Neither of them were... particularly ideal outcomes.

He took another sip of his tea and wiped his lips a little.  
"Fine," he'd said. "You may begin your interrogation. I'm accountable for however I may react but remember that you are asking about an extremely sensitive personal subject that could have negative consequences on my mental state."

Shiro nodded, looking down at the table, nearly bristling with guilt. "I wouldn't have come to you for help if it wasn't serious," he said very quietly, swallowing hard. He thought about reaching down to take another sip of tea to try and ease the tension of the room a bit, but his stomach felt a little too sick for that. "Truth is, Lotor, I'm scared. They're killing people. They're crashing trains and setting fires in my buildings. They almost killed me... and I don't know anything about them." Shiro gave a deep sigh, stopping himself before he got too deep into his own emotions. It was easy to get that way around Lotor for some reason.

"I just need to know what... what you know about them," Shiro murmured, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "You don't need to talk about anything that they might have... anything that might have happened to you. I just want the basics. Who they are, what they want, and maybe a few of their nearest operation buildings. All I know is that they're everywhere -- all over the world. It's a big mission to tackle but I can't let anymore people die. It's pulling me apart, Lotor. I haven't been so obsessed with something since..."

He trailed off, letting his words fade into a sigh. "If you don't want to tell me about them, that's okay," Shiro assured. "I just need some advice. Something. I'm a mess, Lotor. Juggling an entire company and taking down a huge group of assassins isn't really doing wonders for my mental health, if you can imagine."

"The Galra is a company fronting for a mafia. It's a large group- I couldn't count the numbers if I tried- and every second they recruit or they kill someone. They're ruthless, their only solution to conflict is conflict and their only way of dealing with weakness or mission failures is with a punishment ranging from battery to execution. It's a hierarchy with one man at the top, his subordinates second, and all of the irrelevant and expendable people at the bottom. Currently, my father is the ruler of the mafia. The 'emperor', he calls himself, with a collection of subordinates. The last I remember that is still alive is Sendak, who has people like Throk working beneath him a few ranks above the expendables. He's violent and bloodthirsty, which is why my father liked him so much. He'd not one for emotional manipulation or abuse- if he has an issue, he'll fight it out. He'd die for the empire if that was what it took to complete a mission successfully. He's one of the biggest threats you'll face if you dare to do something that foolish. The only person more dangerous than he is is my father, but it would be impossible to get to him without getting your hands dirty."

Lotor cleared his throat a little, draining the rest of his tea and calling a servant for another cup, already on edge just from having to repeat this information that he'd repressed for so long. He kept his eyes fixed on Shiro, trying to picture how he must have looked. He'd seen Shiro on the TV before the incident but Shiro had changed so much since then and he could only begin to imagine what he looked like now, or what expression he pulled as he listened to this information.

He continued.

 

"The systems are straightforward when you're aware of how they work, so I can run through that with Matt if need be and I can get him an entryway into the system if it's needed. I can even equip him with everything he'll need to be invisible when he snoops around but there's a specific folder for every person, every subordinate, every mission, every target. It's meant to be difficult for a stranger to navigate their way around without knowing exactly what to do, which lets them figure out whether it's one of their own or a stranger trying to access their system. With my help, I could let you access everything that you need in a matter of moments and they'd turn their attention to someone in their ranks instead of trying to track down someone outside."

His hands were beginning to shake, which was frustrating. This many emotions and for what? For some trauma he hadn't experienced or relived in years? That he only really remembered in his nightmares, forgotten when he woke up?

"Who is it that caught your interest? Who do you want to find?"

Shiro noted the shakiness of Lotor's hands with a gentle grimace. He didn't know if it would be best to ignore it for Lotor's sake or to ask him if he'd been alright. The only reason he didn't say anything was because he knew that if the positions were flipped, he wouldn't have wanted Lotor to point out any shakiness or weakness. Shiro knew, after a friendship that had lasted a good collection of years prior, that he and Lotor were quite alike in the aspects of their dignity. He would leave it alone unless Lotor became worse.

"I guess I'd go after this Red Flame douchebag first," Shiro said, only using such a rude term out of his own frustration. "I wouldn't kill him, obviously, but I'd question him a bit before turning him into the cops. Offer some liberties and maybe lift some years off of his sentence if he tells me where his bosses are... then maybe if I get nothing out of him, I'd go for that guy you mentioned. S... Sendak?" He paused, watching Lotor nod after he pronounced the name right. "After him then it's... your father...?"

His tone dropped with an awkward sort of guilt. "Jesus, Lotor..." he muttered, shaking his head a little. Lotor had mentioned some things about his father being nothing but evil in some of their past conversations, but the 'emperor' of a business-like mafia? A man responsible for the murder that had to be in the high thousands? A man Shiro was likely going to have to fight?

A man who wanted Shiro dead?

"I feel like with all of that, you're trying to tell me I'm in over my head," Shiro said, offering the slightest huff of a laugh. "But hey, to kill the body you have to chop off the head of the snake, right? That's a good start, I guess."

"Shiro, you are beyond being in over your head. If I'm entirely honest with you, you were in above your head the first time you decided to become a vigilante. This is pushing your luck to the extent that it will kill you. Zarkon is not the man to make an enemy out of and I'm sure that you're already on their radar- not only as a millionaire businessman with the power that you have, but also as the Black Paladin. Zarkon wouldn't have to lift a finger if he wanted you dead right now and, as I'm sure you've found out, there are people working many ranks beneath him who have tried. The Red Flame is just one example. You could have been killed. Every time you put on that mask you risk being given a cheap funeral and having your wealth exploited by everyone written in your will."

Lotor leant forward a little, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Am I making myself clear? What would happen to everyone you care about if you die? Matt? The little... Keith? What about everyone who works at your company? Everyone who admires you? Do you want to end up just like your parents? Another name to be put in the papers to get more people to buy the story. Someone that the newspapers will make up countless rumours and allegations after you died so that you cant disprove any of them?" He paused a moment, sighing, shaking his head. He knew it was hopeless to try and talk Shiro out of this. He'd tried many times before. "I can't tell you what you should and shouldn't do but if you decide, of all things to do, that you want to go after Sendak or Zarkon, then give me a warning so I can begin preparing my eulogy."

Shiro, for some odd reason, began to feel scared. It was that same acidic feeling of fear he had gotten pinned beneath the nose of Red's flamethrower. He didn't really know how to react to Lotor's words -- he could feel the impacting truthfulness behind each and every one of them but... Shiro just didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. Shiro couldn't just stop.

To stop his vigilante work would be doing nothing. To stop what he was doing for the city with everything that he knew would rip him apart worse than his current stress already was. The guilt would kill him before any flamethrower could. To stop his vigilante work would make him useless. Nothing but a handsome face on the news. He could try all he wanted to make himself feel better by pouring money into charities and doing relief work overseas, but deep down Shiro knew there was one definite way he could help people. And that was protecting them from things they couldn't even see.

But Shiro couldn't find the words to voice that. He couldn't find a way to express it. So naturally, he became defensive.

"What I don't want," Shiro started, his tone flatter. Cooler. "Is to die a meaningless death, Lotor. Dying doing what's right is better than dying after years and years of knowing what I know and doing nothing about it. I'm not going to just be some picture on the news or... or name on the paper, whatever you said. That's not my legacy, Lotor! I'm going to save people. I'm going to make things right. There's only so much I can do with a handsome smile and a fat wallet."

He leaned up a little more, narrowing his eyes. "My parents died in a car crash, Lotor." Shiro's voice was very, very quiet. He was secretly glad Lotor couldn't see the tremble of his own hands as he curled them into fists over the table. "They died before they were supposed to -- and I... I get what you're saying, Lotor, I do. But if I just do what they did -- if I just live some normal life pretending I don't know what's happening behind the curtain -- then I will be nothing but a name on paper!"

His voice grew a little louder than he knew it should have. Some servants across the room turned their heads as the word paper echoed about Lotor's study. Shiro felt the shame flush throughout his body, stifling out both the fear and the unnecessary anger, and he leaned back in his chair, both hands reaching towards his head.

"Sorry..." he mumbled. He began to bite at his bottom lip. "Sorry... I... it's just... I can't end up like them. They died for no reason. If I die, I'm going to die with a purpose, Lotor." Shiro looked up, letting his shoulders fall a bit. "I didn't mean to yell. Talking about them and death and... all of that just gets be riled up."

"Shiro, you can achieve great things without putting on a mask and putting your life at risk. You'll be no use to anybody dead, no matter what your 'legacy' may be. Just consider putting the mask down and leaving this life behind. Would it be that horrible to die after achieving something passively than to die actively fighting too big of a threat?"

Lotor waited a few moments for a reply but sighed when he didn't get one, uncurling his fists despite how his hands still trembled.  
"Go on, ask another question. Ask as many as you need. I can't promise I'll answer them all but if I can't sway you away from this idiotic lifestyle then I'll do what it takes to prevent you from dying of it. Just promise me that you'll keep me updated on who you decide to kill and when. I want to know when you plan on killing my father so that I can step in and take over the ranks in the Galra hierarchy. I would have killed him myself by now but it's difficult to win a fight when you can't see your opponent. I'm not foolish enough to run blindly into a fight I'm not prepared for, so to speak."

Shiro offered a gentle at Lotor's last little joke, and reached for his cup of tea, figuring his stomach settled enough for him to drink another sip or so. "Well... I don't really intend on killing anybody," he said, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "But... I have to do what I have to do. I'll make sure to update you on everything, Lotor. I'll even have Matt share the servers we've gotten into so far."

He turned his head to the side a little, idly studying the wall of books set up beside them. "I don't really have too many other questions -- I'm sure I'll have more as we get further into this fight," Shiro said, sighing a little. "Just... what do you know about the Red Flame? Anything at all? If he's the one I'm going after first then I want to be real prepared for him."

"I've never heard of him before he first appeared on the news. He's a new recruit- small, agile, expendable. Blends in with a crowd, I'd assume, as he's gone for popular areas before. I wouldn't say he'd have much otherwise he wouldn't be going out on such dangerous missions and he's likely being promised good money for it. Zarkon doesn't have much to his charm aside from threats and money. Your best bet would be to stand idle while they set a fire and catch them out afterwards. Take them by surprise- jump on them, follow them, just don't get noticed and give them time to respond. Whoever they are, they're getting cocky and you ought to deal with this quick."

Lotor tugged one hand through his hair, sighing a little, wrapping a strand around his fingers slowly before releasing it, repeating this a few times to busy himself. Idle minds lead to bad thoughts.  
"You've seen what happens when he gets the upper hand. Don't give it to him."

Shiro nodded slowly, thinking over everything Lotor had been telling him. "I guess all that means it's safe to assume he's not too loyal to Zarkon," he murmured, more so thinking aloud than simply speaking to Lotor. "That means if I catch him somehow I can pull some answers out of him. He's already deliberately disobeyed orders for me once... who knows, maybe I can get him to do it again?"

He gave a soft sigh, and shrugged his shoulders a little. "I'll figure it out. Like I said I'll keep you updated on everything." Shiro leaned back into his chair, rolling his shoulders a bit to get comfortable. "We can drop the subject of the Galra if you want. I've got other things to tell you, anyways. I'm not a virgin anymore -- that's big news, huh?"

Shiro didn't know why he said that. He didn't know how he was even able to form the words together into that single sentence and force it past his lips. But of course, Lotor had that calming aura about him -- Shiro couldn't hold anything back. Not his raging emotions about his stress or death or his parents, and certainly not the news that he had finally turned in his V-card. He had been hiding it from everyone... everyone being pretty much just Matt of course. Even then, the secret was somehow harder to keep than the secret of his virginity itself.

"Don't even try asking who it was with -- I'll never tell," Shiro added very quickly, blushing so much his skin almost seemed to boil. "But yeah, it's a good thing. If all this vigilante work does kill me, at least I'll know what sex is like before I go."

"And you're sure that you're not going to get excited and tell me who it is anyway?" Lotor asked, a little smile on his lips. He'd played this game with Shiro six or seven times by now- where Shiro would say he'd never tell and then get excited and accidentally announce whatever he was trying to keep secret. At first it had been business plans but then it became personal experiences and now, evidently, Shiro was eager to tell someone that he'd had sex. Usually Lotor would have said that it wasn't his business or that he didn't need to know but he could tell from Shiro's tone that he was excited and he liked being someone that Shiro felt comfortable telling everything to. 

"Congratulations, though. Whoever it was must have been lucky." Lotor brought his cup to his lips, still smiling a little as he sipped his tea.

Shiro gave a scoff. "Well he doesn't seem to think so," he grumbled, only recognizing he had let too much out after the words left his tongue. He blushed again and gave a wince, drawing up his shoulders. Lotor's suave curiosity -- the cocking of his brow, the soft curling of a grin, the gentle tilt of his head -- however, seemed to draw more from Shiro, and he went on.

"I mean, he was the one who wanted to have sex with me, and then the next morning he tells me it's nothing!" His voice gained more conviction, and Shiro pushed up a little in his seat, all of that unvoiced emotion finally escaping him -- almost like a carbonated drink shaken up to the point of bursting and then finally being relieved of its cap. "And the worst part is, like, I think I've actually had feelings for this guy for a while? I don't really know. If anyone knows how bad I am with these sorts of feelings it's you, Lotor -- but I just... I always get really sad when he leaves me alone. And I think about him. A lot. Like, I've even been having dreams about him lately. Is that normal?"

Shiro paused his rant to see if Lotor would nod or not. All he got was an amused shrug. Shiro groaned, rolling his eyes far back into his head.

"I've been stuffing this down because I'm really really close friends with him, and I know he doesn't care about me as much as I care about him, but... God it's ridiculous how much it all messes with me, Lotor." Shiro hung his head, lifting a hand to his temple. "It's even worse because I can't talk to Matt about it at all. If he knew that I had sex with Keith he would-"

He snapped his head back up, face flushing the deepest shade of red he thought was possibly for his complexion. "Wait! I didn't- I didn't mean to-... ugh," Shiro closed his eyes and waited for either laughter or judging, his skin burning up with embarrassment.

"You always tell me in the end," Lotor said, a warm smile on his lips. "You can't help it. Either way, it's always been obvious that you've had feelings for Keith. You talk about him almost all the time- even when you give him a nickname and promise me that you're talking about someone entirely different. You're always pressing closer even when he's pushing you away and you wouldn't do that if he wasn't someone that you like dearly. Do you want to tell me more? Or are you going to bottle up your feelings until they kill you? You sound like you're stressed enough as it is, without this weighing on your mind."

That was one of the better things about Lotor. As envious as one could be about his manor, his pristine living conditions, his many servants and lavish lifestyle, he was far more considerate than most. If Shiro had confessed this to Matt he would have been critiqued to no end. To Keith, he would have been degraded and told that his feelings meant nothing. To anyone else it would have spread like wildfire and been news on the front pages after a day or two. To Lotor, he was met with support. The predictability of Shiro's feelings might have been a little frustrating but what else was there to say? He talked about Keith more than he realised.

Shiro looked up at Lotor, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. After that came a shameful sort of sorrow, one presented with furrowed brows and a bitterly curled frown as he turned his gaze to the ground. "I just can't believe to took sex for me to really realize it," he mumbled, only feeling a dull pulse of shock thrum through his system at the fact he had finally admitted it. Weeks of mulling over everything -- of tossing and turning and fretting and trying so hard to push it away or push it down -- he had finally come to terms. And all it took was a short, breathless rant and a casual response from Lotor's reassuring lips.

He gave a low groan, and brought his hands up to his head, ducking into his palms. "I just don't know what I'm going to do," Shiro muttered bleakly. "Keith said that what we did was meaningless. That it was just physical. But I... I felt so much more. I thought if I repressed everything it would all just go away. Hell, I even have a thing with a coworker right now. We go on dates whenever I'm not busy. He kisses me. He puts his hands on my waist and my chest and even sometimes up my shirt and the whole time he does that all I can imagine is Keith doing that to me. We still haven't had sex yet because I'm so afraid that I'm going to end up saying Keith's name or something like that."

Shiro saw Lotor make a face across the table. "Sorry," Shiro said, holding up a hand. "Too much information, I know. But, seriously though, what the hell am I meant to do? I can't talk to Keith -- he doesn't feel the same way. I can't just drop Curtis either... I don't want to hurt him and quite frankly... I'm really tired of being alone."

Ouch. Shiro didn't like that he said that outloud. It was out there, however, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Lotor began to mull it over, running the information through his mind and working it out. Shiro was in one hell of a bind and while it was amusing to hear about- save the sex stuff- he couldn't deny that he'd rather save Shiro the extra stress than amuse himself.

"Your only reason for not talking to Keith is because he might not want to talk about it. That he might not want to be confronted about it. Shiro, you're always putting him above you. You put this poor stoner kid on a pedestal and regard him as something unattainable or impossible but it's not that difficult. You are allowed to be selfish. You are allowed to tell Curtis- the coworker, I assume? You are allowed to tell him that you're not interested if you're not interested in him. You're allowed to pull Keith aside and tell him how you feel. Repressing feelings, ignoring them, hiding them, it all makes them stronger. You wouldn't feel nearly as bad if you had told him this the morning after you two engaged in sex. Instead, you bottled it up and now it's plaguing you everywhere that you go."

It seemed so obvious when Lotor said it like that. He was no longer shaking, too, the change of topic helping him divert his focus elsewhere and making it much, much easier to cope. He couldn't help interrupt actively but he was doing the best that he could to advise Shiro toward the best outcome. It might have been more twisted and complex than Shiro let on but Lotor was giving the advice that he could for the situation.

"You can't live your life putting everyone around you above you. You're selfless to a fault. Keith, from what I hear, is selfish to a fault. The only way you'll be able to change this is by being selfish. Making it clear that you want answers. You want to talk about something. Don't let him push you away or change the subject. Perhaps for a new take on the issues you're experiencing, consider this: If you were to die tomorrow- for any reason, vigilante work or otherwise- would you be satisfied with how you left things? Disregarding your work, forgetting about the vigilantism, focusing solely on the people around you and the friends you have. Would you be satisfied?"

Shiro, who was still a little caught up on the fact Lotor had said the phrase 'engaged in sex' out loud, gave a little start when he finally registered those last few questions, his system almost stuttering as he brought them into focus. He took a moment to think about it, looking down to the table, into the cooling cup of tea.

"I... I don't know..." Shiro murmured, that previous fear of death misting back into his system again. He wondered if that was why it was scaring him so much lately -- because he just wasn't satisfied. Shiro suppressed a shudder, and brought his hands up to the opposite arms. "I guess... no. No I wouldn't be but... I can't just tell Keith. I'd scare him away. I'd rather suffer with him around than suffer with him gone."

He hugged himself a little tighter, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt sleeves. "Maybe... maybe I'll tell him. But not now. He's going through a lot right now -- he needs me," Shiro said, shaking his head a little. "His mom should come back in a few months. When she's home, I'll tell him. That way if he never wants to see me again, at least I know he has someone to turn to that isn't me."

"Selflessness will be your undoing," Lotor said, a soft sigh gliding past his lips in what had to be disappointment. He ran one hand through his hair, brushing it from his face, his brow furrowing. "I can't begin to imagine what must go through your mind to make you prioritise others so desperately. Is it the fear of being abandoned or are you some kind of a chronic people-pleaser? Sometimes I have to ask myself if I think you're simply putting up a facade around me or not. It's not as if I would be able to see through it when I can't notice the telltale signs that you might exhibit."

What was his reason for being so cruel all of a sudden? His entire demeanour seemed to change in a heartbeat. Perhaps the volatility was due to the earlier discussion on the Galra. Perhaps it was simply because he wanted to be brutally honest with Shiro. Perhaps he was just getting sick of this.

"Sometimes I feel like I have someone opposite me, sharing fears and insecurities, making me a therapist I'm not licensed to be. Other times I feel as if I'm sitting beside a two-dimensional, shallow and selfish businessman who knows exactly who he should be if he wants to make people love him."

Shiro fell silent, watching Lotor with a pair of hurt eyes. He hugged himself even tighter, finally flicking his gaze down. "I... I didn't mean for it to seem like that," he murmured, a strange mix of guilt and self consciousness brewing up somewhere deep in his system -- feeling like acidic panic the longer it stirred there. Was Lotor right? Was that the impression Shiro gave off to people? That he was selfish? A charismatic businessman who only charms those for the dollars in their pockets? The thoughts scared him more than he hoped they would.

"I'm sorry," he said nervously, swallowing hard. "I... I don't think that's who I am. I think I just care about other people more than I care about myself -- that's what Matt says anyways. I don't mean to act... two-dimensional. Or whatever you said."

"You're shallow," Lotor jabbed, his words gaining a little more malice now. He could hear the guilt in Shiro's voice but that wasn't his intent. Shiro had a breaking point. It wouldn't take too long for him to find it. "You're nothing but a shallow husk of a man, eager for validation and approval so he can fill a void left by his parents. You're selfless because you want to be selfish and know that somewhere in your heart you'll never get the approval that you so desperately crave without your false kindness."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue but he knew what he needed to say so he continued.

"Are you really so desperate to be liked that you can't see how horrible you truly are? How disgusting you are under this fickle facade?"

Shiro was stunned, eyes a little wider than they had been before, his body and his posture frozen in a numb sort of shock as Lotor's words settled. "I... where is this coming from, Lotor?" Shiro asked weakly, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding so sad. "I don't think I... I wouldn't say disgusting. And I'm not putting on an act or... or at least I don't think I am."

He started to shift in his chair a bit, biting anxiously on his lip. Shiro didn't know why Lotor had flipped the conversation so suddenly -- all he knew was that he didn't like how heavy the atmosphere was. He reached a hand up and tugged at his collar, feeling a little hotter under all of that verbal fire. Shiro tried one last attempt to put it out.

"If this is about asking you about the Galra... I'm sorry, Lotor. I didn't mean to hurt you or... or anything," he said softly. "I mean, maybe I deserve this but-"

"Maybe?" Lotor echoed, barking out a sharp laugh. "Shiro, if you don't think that you wear a facade then you're both manipulative and ignorant. It's disgusting. I should have turned you away at the door!"

Lotor moved back a little, waving over a servant and requesting a cigarette, claiming that he needed it for the stress of enduring Shiro's presence.

"It's no wonder that Keith ended up the way that he did. You lack parental love and romantic love. You barely scrape up the platonic love that you need to grow. How do you expect to be able to give love if you're incapable of harbouring it? How do you expect Keith to grow when he doesn't get love from his family and he can barely get it from you? Sometimes I wonder why he hasn't killed himself if you're all he has for company."

He had the cigarette slotted between his middle and index finger and let it settle between his lips, currently unlit, awaiting the little flickering warmth and the smell of tobacco.

Something in Shiro seemed to crack at the mention of Keith, but Lotor's last little biting insult caused the very thing to snap -- to shatter into brittle, painful shards. The feeling was so powerful it left Shiro seeing red. His vision had simply flashed with it. The next thing he knew, he was on his feet and he had reached across the little glass table to grab a hold of Lotor's collar. He curled the fabric between his prosthetic fingers, the metal hand clenching tight as he yanked Lotor forwards, jostling the glass table, spilling the tea, knocking the unlit cigarette from between Lotor's lips, and alerting some of the servants -- all of which giving a startled sort of gasp.

"Don't you dare say that about him!" Shiro growled between his clenched teeth, face twisted up in a fit of pure rage. One of the servants rushed up to Shiro's side, but Lotor held up a hand -- one Shiro didn't notice -- and stopped them. "Don't talk about him like that. Don't... don't even think about that!"

He could feel his other first curl and pull back by his head, as if he meant to punch Lotor right across the face. Shiro caught his reflection in Lotor's glassy eyes however, and he froze up. Rationality seemed to catch up with his sudden flush of white hot rage, and Shiro realized exactly what the hell he'd been doing. He released his hold on Lotor's collar, but he pulled his hand back harshly, as if Lotor disgusted him. Shiro took a step back, standing up still, feeling too riled up to sit down just yet.

"I'm trying my best with Keith," Shiro said darkly, shaking his head a little. "I care about him and I... I look after him... he needs me Lotor! I'm all he has! You can call me selfish a-and disgusting and... and whatever you want to, but you can't tell me I don't love him. You can't tell me I haven't given him a home or something to rely on."

Shiro was huffing for breath -- he didn't even seem to realize until then. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes and his temples for a second while he collected himself.

"Maybe I should go," he said softly, letting his hand fall by his side.

But, despite it all, Lotor smiled earnestly at Shiro. He took his cigarette and brought it between his lips again, letting a servant light it while he smoothened out his suit where Shiro had grabbed it.  
"I was wondering," he said after taking a drag, smoke billowing past his lips in little grey clouds. "What exactly it would take to get you to stand up for yourself. You can take so many punches but when it involves someone else, someone you care about, that's what pushes you over? I must admit, Shiro, you surprise me every time we meet."

Another long, slow drag on the cigarette and Lotor gestured to the seat opposite him. "Please," he said. "Settle down. There's no need to leave- you didn't do anything irrational. I was only trying to provoke you and you reacted accordingly."

Shiro stared at him, his brow furrowing a bit. He was speechless for a good moment or so -- at a complete lack for words. When he did manage to fish out something worth saying, it was stuttered and spluttered with his own angry surprise.

"You pulled me apart mentally just to try and get a rise out of me?" Shiro asked, nearly astonished. His voice was sharp, still sizzling with his previous anger. Shiro looked down at his hands, the image of him mindlessly grasping Lotor's collar -- so ruthless and savage -- and most of his anger was instantly flushed away with guilt. Shiro gave a shaky huff and closed his eyes. "I... Jesus, Lotor. You're so weird."

He eased down in his seat, slumping back against the cushion. The previous tension of his body slackened, and Shiro hung his head. "I don't get whatever life lesson you're trying to teach me, man," Shiro muttered, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He tried to ignore the smell of Lotor's cigarette -- he tried to ignore how the smoke began to tickle his lungs. It just made his head feel all the more clouded. "Now I just feel worse than before. Sorry for... hulking out on you. But to be fair, you were being a real asshole."

"As was the point, yes," Lotor nodded, a little smile on his lips. "You stood up against me because I was being irritating. You stopped caring about letting me think what I thought because you didn't like it. You were selfish, even if only for a few moments. Did it not feel good to stand up for yourself and your opinion? Even if you only stood up to me for the sake of your friends, didn't it feel nice?"

He paused a moment, as if expecting an answer, before a small and breathless little laugh escaped him. "Think it over. Keep that in mind- I don't want to get an answer from you. So think before you decide to wait for Keith to be 'ready' to hear that you have feelings for him, consider how good it would feel to get that burden off of your chest and prevent it from growing into something worse. Consider the benefits for you over the consequences for him. You've been in pain for long enough."

Shiro, despite feeling so spun around and confused he was damn near nauseous, offered up his own humorless huff of laughter. "Every time we meet, you seem to mess me up somehow," he mumbled tiredly, managing to flick his eyes around the room. The servants were still watching him with caution, their locked gazes nervous -- as if they were watching some sort of wild animal.

As much as he loved Lotor, he thought that what he had done might have been a step too far. But... he guessed that was what Lotor was trying to do. Even if Shiro felt like he could simply sink down through the floor.

"Well, this has been a... talk," Shiro sighed, pushing up in his seat a little. "I have work to do. And a mafia to collapse. And I... I think I need a nap if there's time. Like a really good one." He laughed again, a tired laugh, but one with real feeling. "Is there anything else you want to twist my brain over or would you mind if I left this conversation here?"

"Nothing left to twist your brain about," Lotor said, getting to his feet, his cigarette still between his lips. He swept up his cane in one hand. "I'll see you to the door. I'll wish you luck for your mafia-destruction before you leave and I'll be sure to send over any more information you may need. Remember to call me if you want easy access into the systems- I don't doubt that Matt could figure it out alone but it could put him at risk if he's detected. It would put my mind at ease if I were able to ensure that you didn't end up being hunted down over a few mistakes that could have been avoided."

The door was opened and Lotor led the way through hall after all, having this place memorised perfectly for easy access around, his focus fixing on Shiro every so often. Usually he'd pause if Shiro stopped to admire something or his breath seemed to catch as if he wanted to speak. But words never came and Shiro never faltered for more than a moment, so they walked to the door in silence.

Shiro stopped once he had made it out of the front door, huffing out a deep, long sigh when he remembered he would half to walk all the way down Lotor's driveway. His head was starting to pound. The itchy burns on his legs were starting to throb with each step -- fired up again for some reason, worsening his limp and his mood. He turned to Lotor, reaching up a hand and clapping it on Lotor's shoulder.

 

"Thanks for seeing me, man. And for all your help," he said tiredly, offering a smile. "I'll be keeping in touch -- make sure you're up to date on our operations. Sorry again for grabbing you like that. Please make sure your servants knows I'm not a menace."

"They'll be aware," he explained, a little smile still on his lips. Lotor's kind eyes stayed fix on Shiro- where he imagined was eye-level, following the sound of Shiro's voice with the attention and where his hand was coming from. "Trust me. And again, you have nothing to apologise for. The intent was to make you that riled up."

Shiro grinned at him, and gave him a two hearty pats on the shoulder before dragging his hand back. He turned and started down the stone pathway, calling a final goodbye to Lotor as he went. Once again he was met with the joys nature as he passed through it, the subtle smells and the calming sounds and the sweet, gentle brush of the wind. Maybe it wasn't so bad he left his car all the way down Lotor's driveway.

After all, he sure as hell needed a moment to clear his head.


	15. A Stupid Mistake

"For the last time, Shiro: no! We're not going to take this one. Just let the police handle it. End of story."

Shiro groaned, hanging his head backwards, rolling eyes pointed up towards the roof of his car. "Why the hell not, Matt?" he asked, exasperated. "We're on a roll! Why break the streak? Especially with where they're hitting next? It's too close to home just to ignore."

Matt mumbled something indecipherable on the other end of the call, his gibberish-like grumblings humming through the speakers of Shiro's car. "When is the last time you slept Shiro?" he cried, his voice tight with impatience and, if Shiro had been listening correctly, a hint of nervous concern. "Ever since you went to go talk to Lotor you've been nonstop! You work all day and then we work all night. When you're not doing any of that you're going to dinner with Curtis or hanging out with Keith. We know nothing about this guy setting up your trap, and you are a dying battery. That's why I'm saying no. End of story."

Shiro gave an annoyed scoff, shaking his head bitterly as he formed an argument -- pulling together what few straggling points he could to get Matt off of his back.

They had been arguing about it for what had to be days by then. With Lotor's help, Matt had gotten in deep to the Galra's secret servers and mission plans. It was perfect -- every website and every link and ever server brought them a few more step ahead of the twisted mafia of murderers and their Emperor. It was an endless supply of dates and addresses and heists and members. Shiro had been going after the more financial branches of the Galra's operations, trying to take them out with repetitive blows at their weak spots until he could get his hands on Red again. Over the past week or so, Shiro had taken down two drug dealings, had turned in four known human traffickers, and he stopped about three assassinations that were going to be carried out by lowerlife Galra members.

He was taking such a relentless approach for a multitude of reasons -- the biggest being his plot to take the whole Galran operation down, of course. But the smaller, more strategic reason was simple: he really just wanted to poke the bear. He wanted Red to come after him. He wanted them to set another trap. Shiro and Matt would know it right away, and then they would get the drop on their fiery little friend. Catch him, unmask him, question him, and then right along onto phase two of taking down the empire.

The only problem with their plan, as it seemed, was that the Galra seemed to forget about the Red Flame in their trap making. Instead of the RF there normally was on all of Red's mission statements, Matt and Shiro's handy little server told them there was someone else on duty to deal with the Black Paladin Friday night at the Shirogane Technology and Health building.

S.

The Galra's plan was simple. S would rob Shiro's building of their prosthetic designs, making it out to be any regular heist, but he was really only making such a bold appearance at such a popular building to draw the Black Paladin into his web. Their plan was flawed, however. They didn't know Shiro had access to all of their chatter and secrecy.

They also didn't know that it was the Black Paladin's turf they were messing with.

"I have to do this, Matt," Shiro said, easing his car to a stop at the red light. He was driving home from work, hoping to get to his apartment quick to suit up for the night. Matt, however, was stuck at the lab -- working on some technological medicine prototypes that they had finally gotten the funding for. He had called him to ask if he could man the mission at work, and Matt had simply gone off on him. "This is my building he's threatening. My guards. My designs. My money."

"Which is all the more reason not to go. Do you want people to start tying Takashi Shirogane and the Black Paladin together?." Matt's voice was stern and harsh over the speakers. When Shiro didn't answer though, he gave a soft sigh and spoke again -- much softer. "Shiro, man, I'm worried about you. Your eyes are so dark lately. You haven't been this obsessed since that whole conspiracy with your parents." There was a heavy moment of silence. That phase of Shiro's life was starting to come up in his conversations a lot more than he wanted it to.

Matt continued, hesitant but blunt."That ended in a mental breakdown -- this isn't going to end any better, I'm sure. Please, man... I'm begging you here. Tip the police and take the night off. I'll come over and we can watch a movie. Sleep. Eat snacks and cuddle with Atlas and Black. Maybe even Keith could come over: it would be whatever you want. What do you say?"

Shiro didn't answer for a long time, his features stoic, his silence almost eerie. When he did, however, there was a sigh of defeat airing out his words as he slumped back in his car seat, still stuck at the light. "Fine," he said, giving up. "Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe I... Maybe I need a break."

He could almost hear Matt's smile when he spoke again. "Good. I knew you'd come around. You aren't that dumb," he chuckled.

Shiro gave a snort, and his own little snicker. "Yeah, yeah." The light changed, and Shiro started forwards again. "You just get back to work, alright? Finish up so you can come back to the apartment."

Matt laughed on the other line. "Sure thing, boss-man," he hummed. "I'll see you later tonight. Love ya. Bye."

"Bye."

The call clicked to an end.

Instead of driving home with all his focus on the road like he normally would, however, Shiro tapped the control pad of his car's dashboard. He scrolled through his contacts, using his peripherals to scan the names, and tapped on the first name in the K section. Keith's contact information popped itself up on the screen, and only seconds later, the gentle ring of the call began to hum through Shiro's car speakers.

He was planning on doing something stupid. Completely idiotic, really. Shiro just wanted input from an outside source.

The new call was answered about three rings in, and Shiro beamed at the sound of Keith's voice mumbling out a hello.

"Hey Keith," Shiro greeted, already forming the complex lie he would have to tell Keith in order to get his opinion. "I'm kind of in a dilemma right now... Matt's no help and last time I opened up to Lotor I nearly punched him in the face. Mind if I ask you for some input?"

"Sure, man," came Keith's groggy voice, heavy with exhaustion and drawled out a little. There was wind whistling through the speakers so he wasn't at home but nothing aside from that was clear. No thrumming of an engine to imply that he was on the move, none of Kosmo's yapping or growling to say that he was walking him, nothing. Just a low whistle of wind and Keith's grumbling voice.

In fact, right now he was sat a couple minutes from the building that was to be targeted next, tucked away in an alley with his suit on. His mask was folded up to expose his mouth and his mouthguard was in a container in his pocket so that he could eat some donuts that he'd picked up a few minutes earlier. It wasn't the most pleasant to sit on the lid of a dumpster while he ate but he didn't have much else of a choice if he didn't want to risk sitting on glass on the floor. Sendak was due to text him when they were going to begin moving- so Keith had time to kill. He didn't know how long he had but he was sure that he had enough time for a few donuts. And, evidently, for a conversation with Shiro, tucking the phone up under his mask to keep it pressed by his ear as he ate.

Shiro thought about it for a second or so -- debating whether or not he should ask Keith where he was to give himself more time to come up with an alright lie. He shrugged, however, and simply went for it, keeping his tone casual and cool. For a man of such morals, Shiro had twisted himself into a fairly successful liar if he could say so himself. Whether it was the business work or the vigilante work, or maybe a little bit of both, he didn't know. All he knew was that the lies left him rather easily.

"There's this meeting I think I should go to tonight. It's kind of sketchy -- with some people who want to sell their ideas to me or something like that," Shiro explained, flicking his turn signal and rounding a corner. He was only a few more blocks from his apartment, maybe three or four minutes at the most. "I feel like I should go, but Matt told me I should just let some intern or secretary deal with it. But... I feel like that's kinda unfair, you know? Why do I get to choose whether or not to deal with it? My whole thing is trying to make life easier for the little guy."

He gave a long sigh, leaning back in the driver's seat a bit. "I told Matt I wouldn't go, but I think I'm going to do it anyways," he admitted in a hurry, feeling good to get the guilty little thought off of his chest. "Is that stupid? I mean, he'll be mad at me, but what's the worst that can happen? It's not like one little meeting is gonna kill me."

"Yeah, Matt's just stupid protective," Keith said, knowing exactly what Shiro really meant but not being able to dissuade him without bringing more heat and suspicion to himself. He'd only barely managed to shake off Shiro's suspicions last time. "You know how to handle yourself and that's all that should matter. If you wanna handle this yourself, then do it. Just keep a secretary or someone close in case you want to lie about having more important things to do to get yourself out of it. It wouldn't hurt to have someone else, would it?"

Keith took another bite of his donut, though there was now a bitter taste in his mouth at the idea that he was encouraging Shiro to charge headfirst into his death. He just took another bite and use the sweetness of the icing to try and drown out his guilt. He'd be remorseful and regretful after Shiro was dead. There would be plenty of time to mourn later.

Shiro smiled a little, a weight lifting off of his chest. He relaxed a little, feeling some of his guilt ebb away -- ever since he first came up with the idea of going behind Matt's back, there had been a mess of shame tangled up in his stomach. Keith's agreement eased it up a bit, almost making it a little easier for Shiro to breath.

"Thanks," Shiro said, shaking his head a little. "You're right. He is stupid protective. Worse than me sometimes." He gave a soft little laugh at that, still a little airy with his relief. Shiro was still smiling as he went on, changing the conversation a bit so they could talk a little longer. "What are you up to, bud? Sounds like you're outside or something."

"Just sitting on the roof at home," Keith answered, shrugging a little. "I needed a break from Kosmo and I wanted to get some fresh air so I'm on the roof. The stars are pretty clear tonight. Take a look at them sometime if you can, alright? Just as something to do for me. Oh, and could you stop off at mine after your meeting? Text me when you're leaving but I want to go to yours tonight if I can. I'm getting work done on my house again overnight so I wanna get away from it all."

He just needed something to use to get Shiro to go to his house. To make it seem like he was there so that Shiro wouldn't suspect him of anything. He'd be able to get home before Shiro if Shiro never made it out alive. He'd make it home before Shiro if Sendak were to die. In fact, the only scenario in which he wouldn't make it back before Shiro got there would be if he died and Shiro didn't.

Shiro checked his watch, only flicking his gaze for maybe a second or so. He was pulling up to the parking lot of his apartment, already turning into the garages by the time his eyes were back on the road. Shiro stopped however -- after making sure nobody was behind him, of course -- and hesitated, furrowing his brow a little as he thought a moment or so.

"I could just take you over now. The meeting's not until late -- it'll probably be super early in the morning by the time I'm done," he said, checking his rear-view mirror to make sure he wasn't holding anybody up. "Besides, it would be nice to hang out with you for a bit. I've been... a little busy lately, I guess. We could spare a few hours."

There were a few reasons Shiro wanted to see Keith right then and right there. First and foremost, he had no idea what sort of state he would be in after meeting up with S at the trap -- how beaten up and bruised he might have gotten. Picking up Keith with a bloody nose and a swollen eye or maybe even something worse as though it had been nothing would be... suspicious.

The second reason came from something Lotor had said when they met. There was no denying that Shiro's plan was reckless. Dangerous and stupid -- walking into a fight without Matt in his ear scared him just to think about, really. It was no secret that Shiro's chances of dying that night were scary too. He didn't dwell on the idea of course, but it was there. Sitting in the back of his head. Tugging and clawing at his gut -- turning over his stomach whenever the thought would get a little louder. Lotor had asked him if he died in his line of work, 'would he be satisfied?'.

And the simple answer was no. No he wouldn't be.

So, even if Shiro was in denial about his chances, he wanted to see Keith before he went off on his own. Even if it was just to pick him up and drop him off.

"I mean... I would be left with Matt at your place and I don't want to get into any fights with him. And after the time I had a panic attack I wouldn't want to be alone with him at your place," he explained, shrugging slightly. "I just don't think it would be worth risking it if anything does go wrong and I don't have you there to be a buffer. If Matt says the wrong thing... I don't know how I could react. I know it sounds like a bunch of bullshit and excuses but I really don't want to fuck anything up or feel unsafe without you there. We can hang out after, definitely, but I don't want to be left there with Matt."

That and he didn't want to explain to Matt that he'd be leaving for a cigarette or a blunt or some shit and just so happen to return a few hours later, bruised and bloody and only a few minutes earlier than Shiro. And he could cancel on Shiro if something went really wrong. He couldn't do that if he was already there.  
"Good luck, though. With the meeting and everything." His phone buzzed against his face and he pulled it back, seeing Sendak's text to start moving. To meet him on the top floor. To be swift and undetected and to cause no harm or raise no alarm. He brought the phone back to his ear after sending a small 'Alright' to show that he'd acknowledged it.

A little smile crept onto Keith's lips.  
"I'll see you in a few hours then? I gotta go, I think I can hear Kosmo scratching the door off and I want to get him out of that habit before I get a new door fitted. I'm going to get a grey one- with a cage around the mail slot so he can't chew up every letter I get. But- anyway, back on topic, I've gotta go deal with Kos. I'll see you. Bye."

Shiro's shoulders fell a little, but he nodded, easing forwards on the gas again to park his car. "Yeah, totally," Shiro said, faking a normal tone as he pulled his car up to one of his many reserved parking spots. "See you. Bye."

The call ended the moment Shiro stopped the car, the click throwing him into a heavy silence. Shiro looked down, furrowing his brow a bit, his frown gentle but bitter. It occured to him then that he was going to be alone for the next few hours -- he was going to get ready for his mission alone, he was going to make the journey to his building alone, he was going to fight alone, and then he was going to take care of himself afterwards alone before going to get Keith. A slight sense of warning began to stir deep in Shiro's system, but he ignored it with a huff, reaching forwards to pluck the keys from the ignition and popping his door open.

He didn't have time to worry. The server said that S would be at Shiro's building in about two hours -- ten o'clock sharp. Shiro wanted to get there a little earlier to get the upper hand, maybe set up some sensors around the place to get a better visual without Matt telling him everything he saw from the security cameras.

Still feeling a little uneasy, Shiro made his way out of the garage and to his room, wondering if he was really going to get the job done on his own.

~~~

He had been at his building for hours.

And there was nothing.

Shiro crept nice and slow through the darkened shadows of his empty building. It was late, maybe a little past one in the morning -- everyone in their right mind had gone home by now. There were supposed to be security guards, of course, but Shiro didn't see them anywhere... which was concerning, all things considered.

He watched the windows -- slinking past the beams of light each one bled onto the hard floor, trying to keep hidden in the inky blackness of obscurity. He kept his eyes out for the guards -- there were three of them that worked on Fridays. Shiro knew them by names and faces, he'd even shaken their hands once or twice -- whenever he had the time to move around during staff meetings or parties. He knew he had to get each of them out of there as soon as possible. Zarkon's mysterious S man could have been anywhere in the building by then.

It was harder without Matt, Shiro had to admit. He felt almost blind.

He moved quickly. Silently. Checking each room with an unlocked door -- peeking through every window and watching the shadows for any sorts of movement. The sensor traps he had set didn't pick up anything; they had been set up since the moment Shiro had arrived, but still each and every one had been silent. There was nothing for an incredibly long, incredibly tense stretch of time -- a stretch of time where Shiro crept about on his toes, nervous and naked of a watchful eye or a friendly chatter in his ear.

He was starting to get the feeling S didn't show.

But then he did hear something.

A thud. Dull, but sickeningly familiar. The sound of a body dropped against hard floors -- the echo of the thump disturbing Shiro's tensioned silence and spiking his nerves all the more so. All of the sensors were still quiet: nothing blinked, nothing chirped, nothing went off. The sound came from the right of him... from the hall Shiro had delivered his speech in all those weeks ago.

Shiro swallowed hard, gave a soft breath, and then moved forwards.

He pressed close to the wall beside the door, close enough for the heat sensors of his visor to work through the structure, at least. Shiro gazed through it, stifling a reaction as he counted four forms. Two lay limp on the floor, almost so cool they barely register on the monitor at all. The third was held by... by the fourth. Shiro cocked his head and leaned closer, brow furrowed in disbelief. The fourth form could only be described as a sort of mass -- a large, hot bulk of heat and tech. It held the third, which squirmed and writhed in its hold. Shiro felt a chill pass through him as he realized just who all of the smaller heat signatures had been... and then he felt another when he gathered what the fourth was too.

S.

Shiro grit his teeth, and didn't waste any time. His hand found his waist -- found the hilt of his sheathed sword -- and his body moved as if on instinct. He whipped around the corner of the doorway, unsheathing his sword with a whisper of air against that sharp, lightweight metal as he unsheathed it, pointing it towards where his visor told him the last two living heat signatures would be.

Oh. That's not good.

Matthew's tech hadn't lied. On the floor laid two bodies, blood pooling about their crumpled forms -- Shiro tried not to look yet. Instead his eyes found the wriggling third and the mysterious fourth. One of the guards had been held in a headlock by a powerful looking arm, their mouth covered by what Shiro almost didn't realize was one large, metallic finger, which extended from one large metallic hand that gripped tightly to the last living guard's head. The massive prosthetic belonged to a massive host -- a man who stood at a height Shiro didn't gather was possible. Rippling muscles dressed in tight black, armoured chest the size of a barrel, a head half covered in a silk black mask pulled up over a large nose cocked downwards, an orange eye gleaming from what should have been an eye socket.

What was that thing?

"Put him down!" Shiro commanded, not allowing himself to falter under the stranger's stare. He stalked forwards, noticing the similarities of the new man's suit to the Red Flame's -- the armour, the patterning, the tight undersuit. The tech of his prosthetic seemed to be the same as Red's gadgets as well. There was no doubt that the monstrous man before him was S. Shiro grit his teeth and held his weapon tighter. "Put the civilian down. It's me you want, isn't it?"

A malicious grin twinkled in the man's eyes, his smile hidden by his mask but still very much there. "The Black Paladin," a deep, grating voice purred. The guard in his hands whimpered past the prosthetic, wriggling again out of fear. "Why don't we skip ahead a little? I don't have the patience for your heroic banter."

"My name is Sendak. My orders are to kill you. Do not expect me to waste any more time on this." Once he was done with the introduction, Sendak closed his prosthetic fist, snapping the guard's neck nice and easy -- a sickly pop and a crackle before he tossed the lifeless body aside.

Shiro's eyes flew open. "No!" he cried, lowering his sword and starting forwards towards the body as though he could help, but he stopped short when Sendak stepped in front of it, legs bent, body leaned forwards, both eyes gleaming -- one like fire and the other like blood. Shiro froze and took an instinctive step backwards, swallowing hard at... at the beast before him. He grit his teeth, however, and shook his head free of his fear. "You'll pay for that!"

Quickly he tried to gather everything Lotor had told him about Sendak. Something about him being dangerous. Something about him being close to Zarkon. Something about him being one of the biggest threats Shiro could face. Shiro stepped forwards trying to ignore the alarms that whirled in his system, the sword gripped tightly in his hands.

"Shut up, boy," Sendak snarled, starting to prowl, moving slowly to the side as if he wished to flank. Shiro knew better and moved with him, the two simultaneously stalking each other like carnivorous animals -- like big cats fighting over territory. "I have two more jobs after this one. I don't have time for a pretty man in a mask and his morals."

"What are you?" Shiro asked in a growl, keeping his sword pointed out in front of him. "You're... you're not human."

Sendak barked out a harsh sort of laugh. "You think you can question me, you weak little thing?" his voice rattled out, grim and snide. "Save the inquiries for your last requests -- when you choke on your blood and beg for my mercy."

More chills darted up and down Shiro's spine. He ducked a little, just bracing himself for Sendak's attack. Defense, defense, defense -- that was Shiro's play.

"I don't beg," Shiro said darkly, the amplifier of his mask making him sound more menacing than he was sure he actually was.

"We'll see about that, Paladin," Sendak snickered.

And just as Shiro thought he would, Sendak lunged.

Shiro blocked the punch from Sendak's prosthetic, but he suffered the aftermath of the other, almost equally as massive fist as it slammed directly into his side. He gave a harsh grunt, and then lashed out with his sword, going for the machinery of Sendak's metal arm first -- trying to take out his advantage. The blow struck with a heavy clang, but there was nothing to tell for it. Sendak gave another one of those grins through his eyes and punched at Shiro again, knocking him backwards with a blow to his mask.

He recollected himself quickly -- he had to. Shiro spun around Sendak's next attack, and then kicked with his leg, going for the softer padding of Sendak's stomach. His heel met hard abs, and incited a harsh growl. Shiro brought his hand down and his fist up, slamming his armoured knuckles into the soft skin of Sendak's throat. The larger man reeled backwards, coughing a little -- Shiro didn't waste anytime. He lunged forwards, leaping from the ground and pulling his own prosthetic arm back to deliver a punch to the unprotected side of Sendak's face.

However, he hadn't been watching Sendak's hands.

The large metal one latched itself onto Shiro's wrist, catching the punch. The world -- the gravity, it shifted. Shiro didn't even realize what had happened until Sendak had slammed him down onto the floor, using brute strength and his hold upon Shiro's arm to rip him from his feet, spin him, and then throw him down to the ground. Stars flashed in Shiro's eyes as all the breath escaped his lungs. He blinked them away, shaking his head a little as he pushed up to his elbows. Scattered chunks of the marble flooring were spread out around him -- the power of the blow and the strength of Shiro's armor seemed to do a number on it. Shiro grimaced and hoped the damage wasn't too bad as he pushed himself up some more.

However, Sendak's gripped his shoulder, and whipped him around onto his back, slamming him back down onto the floor. The other hand -- the clawed prosthetic -- lunged for Shiro's throat and latched around it. It squeezed. Tight. His air was cut off immediately, his windpipe closed from the strength of the vise-like grip alone.

Shiro kicked up with his legs like a man gone mad, nailing Sendak in the thighs, in the stomach, and even as far up as his chest. Each kick was powerless against the bulk of his armor, but Shiro lashed out anyways, using his hands to tug and claw at the large prosthetic fingers encircled round his throat.

His mind spun, twirling and whirling, colors flashing and cavorting before his eyes, blotching out the image of Sendak's scowling features and flaming glare. The lack of air was already getting to him, his lungs condensing in his chest, his throat spasming beneath Sendak's squeezing prosthetic. Shiro's head felt light and airy, his face and his eyes growing hotter and hotter as the seconds hurried by. His ears rang shrilly, the blood roaring over everything else except the heavy pounding of his heart.

He was going to die, wasn't he?

"Shiro! Jesus Christ!" the shouting was like music in Shiro's ear. "Fuck - uh... The ground! The floor cracked when he threw you down! Use the cement on the ground around you!"

Matt. Good timing.

Listening to the familiar voice crying out in his comm, Shiro abandoned his fruitless attempt of wrenching the steel fingers from his throat. Instead he let his hand fall back onto the ground, outstretched, patting about the cement in desperate search for some sort of weapon. He swiped his hand up and down, tipping his head up and rolling his eyes to try and get some sort of visual. The tips of his fingers brushed against something solid and coarse, and a spark of hope flushed through him. He touched it some more, trying to nudge it forwards, body now bucking as he pointlessly gasped for the air that wouldn't come. It took a few prods for him to latch his fingers onto it, and, without another thought from his spinning mind, Shiro grasped and swung his arm inwards.

A large chunk of pale cement smashed into Sendak's unmasked head, inciting a heavy grunt of pain as he lurched away, blood and dusty debris sprinkling down upon Shiro's face as the claws released their grip on his throat.

He inhaled deeply, and then erupted into wet coughs, turning on his side and curling up in a pitiful sort of fetal position. Shiro wheezed for air, his lungs leaping up into his throat each time he had to exhale. The cool air felt like pure salvation each he gulped it down into his lungs, even if it sent harsh pains through his ragged windpipe and aching chest. With each desperate inhale, the world became a bit less fuzzy. His vision a little less spotted with colors. His hearing a little clearer.

"I told you Shiro," Matt growled from the comm. He must have noticed Shiro was gone -- he must have known Shiro would have broken his promise not to go. Shiro was suddenly glad he had left the comm in his ear, even if Matt's tone was angier than he would have hoped. "I told you this was stupid. He's a fucking mutant, Shiro -- top secret government type shit, okay? You're not strong enough to fight him. He's going to kill you. Get out of there. Now." There was the familiar clacking of a computer. "Are you alright? Your vitals are stable."

"I'm okay," Shiro croaked between pants. "I... I think I'm oka-"

A balled fist slammed into the right side of Shiro's mask -- Sendak's powerful prosthetic packing a punch that left Shiro's head whipping to the side. He must have blacked out a moment, for there was the sound of the steel fingers slamming into his mask, a flash of bright red, and then he was splayed about the ground. Each of his ears had been ringing again, blotted from reality as he attempted to push himself up, still coughing and wheezing. The right side of his mask had shattered, the plastic slipped from his face -- the plastic that hadn't lodged its shards into Shiro's cheek that is. Shiro let out a low moan, and fluttered his eyes a bit, trying to keep his vision from splitting.

Before he could inspect his bleeding face, Sendak and that tricky prosthetic were both upon him again. He felt a tight hand seize him by the chest, the machinery large enough to grip Shiro's rib cage in its palm. In an instant Shiro was thrown against the nearest wall by that grip on his torso before he could regain his bearings. His head bobbed listlessly on his neck as his aching head tried to catch up, chin resting on Sendak's forefingers, eyes fluttering. He lifted his own prosthetic to try weakly to push Sendak's hand away, but there was no use.

"Look who I caught," Sendak's low voice snickered. Shiro peered up at him, one of his eyes exposed and half lidded with pain, and the other hidden behind the blue glow of whatever was intact of his visor. "The Black Paladin... hm. They told me you'd be a much harder adversary. But, unlike me, you're nothing but a man under that mask. Why don't we take a peek?"

Shiro grit his teeth and tried to turn his head away, but there was nothing he could do. Sendak's other hand reached towards Shiro's mask, his clawed finger touching upon the little release button below Shiro's jaw. Without another half to hold it together, the mask slipped from Shiro's head and clattered onto the ground, exposing him and his bloodied features to the night air. His teeth clattered, his bottom jaw quivering. Sendak's eyes opened wide over the black silk of his own mask, and glittered almost in an animalistic fashion as he watched his weak catch squirm in his grip.

"Takashi Shirogane?" he said in a low, almost amused voice. Shiro felt a slice of cool dread pierce his system at his name. "Voltropolis's leading philanthropist? I have to say I'm a little surprised. Well... maybe not. After all, we did kill your mommy, didn't we?"

Something hot and painful flashed through Shiro, his eyes widening and his teeth baring against his snarling lips. He had to ignore it -- he didn't have time to dwell on... on whatever the hell Sendak had been talking about. Shiro began to fall back on his usual plan -- the same trick he tried with Red a few weeks ago.

"Shut... up," he growled, narrowing his eyes. Heavy pants spilled past his bloody lips. His vision danced and hazed red with anger and what had to be a concussion of some sort. The hand that had been holding Sendak's tightened, metal squeezing against metal. "Let me g... let me go... fight me like a real man, c-... coward."

"Shiro, stop," Matt's voice warned, nothing but a worried whisper in his ear. "You're going to make it wor-"

He did make it worse. Matt couldn't even finish before Sendak, by the grip on Shiro's body, pulled Shiro forwards and then slammed him back against the wall -- relentless with his strength. The back of Shiro's head whacked against the plaster wall, pain moving through his spine to his ribs. A gentle whimper escaped past his pants and gasps as he recovered from the blow, head once again lolling on his neck.

"You have two broken ribs," Matt said, his voice shaky through the comms. "One more hit like that and he might cause internal bleeding."

Shiro gave a groan, and fluttered open his eyes. "Shut up," he rasped.

Sendak, those inhuman eyes bright with curiosity, leaned forwards."Who is it you're talking to, Takashi?" Sendak asked, his free hand reaching for Shiro's ear. He plucked out the comm, Matt's panicked voice leaving Shiro's ear and buzzing weakly from the small microphone as Sendak studied it. He shrugged his shoulders, and dropped the little comm down to the ground. "Whatever. I'll track it after you're dead, and kill him next."

"No..." Shiro panted. He moved his leg, which had previously been buckled and listless, forwards to try and stomp on the comm so he could destroy it.

Sendak watched him struggle with a soft cackle, the sounds of his laughter echoing about the building -- twisting and curling up the hollow columns like some sound rendered from the depths of Hell. He kicked Shiro's leg hard into the wall, inciting a loud shout from Shiro as the bone of his ankle snapped in what felt like two. For good measure, as it seemed, Sendak slammed him against the wall again -- with so much force it caused small, spiderwebbed cracks seemed to move outwards from where Shiro had impacted it.

It was then Shiro realized it was hopeless. Matt was right. He should have never gone.

He was bound to die right then in there -- bound to breathe his last breath and onlook his last sight there in the hall of his company building. Shiro's body had gone listless in Sendak's hold, pain moving through him in suffocating waves, pushing him to the very brim of unconsciousness. His head swam, his vision flickered. He was too weak to fight anymore... too tired. Sendak would kill him, and Shiro wouldn't have even put up a fight. Where would he end up after he was dead? On the stairs of his company, still in his vigilante suit? What would his friends think of him then? What would Curtis think?

What would Keith think of him?

Are you satisfied, Shiro?

"Go on... kill me," Shiro whispered gently, his voice nothing but a rasp of a sound, barely louder than his empty gasps and wheezes. "But... leave the citizens out of this... please... please don't hurt them anymore..."

Sendak laughed at him again. "Oh, Takashi, what happened to not begging?" he asked, his grip growing tighter as he spoke. Shiro gave a weak gasp, his ribs bending under the pressure, the hold squeezing his last breath from his lungs as Sendak held him tighter and tighter. His broken ribs screamed in protest, causing Shiro to jam his eyes shut and shout out right along with them. Sendak seemed to bask in the sounds of his torment.

"Now that I know who you are, I'm going to kill every last person you love. Just for the fun of it. Just so I can look them in the eyes before they die, and make sure they know it's all your fault. That they would have been better off not knowing you at all."

There was the soft whispering of a metal blade as it slipped from a sheath. Sendak brought his knife up, and balanced the tip of the blade on Shiro's chest -- right over his heart. Shiro's teary eyes went wide, dismal fear spreading through him like ice as he watched Sendak draw the knife back, preparing for the strike.

"Say hi to mommy and daddy for me, won't you?" Sendak snickered, his fist gripping tight onto the handle of his blade. "Tell them I'm sorry about wrecking their car -- it was such a nice model."

Shiro closed his eyes, letting twin tears trail from each eye as he awaited the strike.

But...

It didn't come...

No, instead there was a sound. A loud, roaring sound. And then there was a feeling. An incredibly hot feeling -- the feeling of flame. Shiro snapped his eyes open and witnessed the orange blaze of flames before Sendak could even turn around. They bore down upon the giant and his knife, licking across the back of his body -- close enough to make even Shiro's skin prickle. Shiro watched Sendak's face contort with what had to be the most anguish he had ever seen a living creature express -- even with his features half hidden with the black mask. He howled, releasing Shiro's throat and the knife at the same time. Shiro fell the floor with a dull thump and a whimper, while the knife fell with a metallic sort of clatter. Sendak reeled backwards, screaming, the back of his body charred and glowing orange, still alight with flames in some areas if Shiro's blurry vision showed him correctly.

Sendak collapsed to the ground in a writhing heap, and behind him stood a familiar figure, dressed in black and red, the soulless visor trained upon his flambeed victim. A flamethrower held in his hands, gripped so tightly the handles might have broken. Shiro felt his blood go cold, even after his scare with Sendak. He tried to get up, but his arms gave out beneath him when he had pushed from the floor, leaving him sprawled and helpless, watching with woozy eyes as Red crept his way towards Sendak's pathetic form.

"What are you doing?" cried the mutant, voice mangled with agony. "What the hell are you doing, boy?"

Red didn't answer. Instead, he approached the weak Sendak and gripped the hilt of his sword -- a sword Shiro had never seen before -- unsheathing it, the beautiful instrument whispering against the air it cut through as Keith whipped it above his head. He held it there for a few moments, as if to bask in the pleasure of the kill, and then he brought the blade down. It slid into Sendak's skull as easily as it could have cut through softened butter, instantly silencing his screaming. The body twitched. Once, twice... and then he was gone. Limp. Left to cool against the ruined cement floors of Shiro's building.

The Red Flame yanked his sword from Sendak's head with a sick sort of sound, whipped the blood from its silvery form, and then sheathed it again. In his other hand he held a small yet bulky sort of flamethrower. He clicked it in place somewhere on his belt, and turned the dial on the compact machine, likely powering it down. The smell of cooked flesh hung heavily in the air, its sweet yet unnerving flavor making Shiro and his concussed system feel like vomiting. He gave a soft whimper and a gag, trying again to push up from the floor and failing all the same.

Sendak was dead, but a new problem arose.

Shiro was in the room with the lunatic that killed him.

As if he could hear the thoughts himself, Red then flicked his visored gaze from Sendak's corpse, and onto Shiro's broken, pitiful place on the ground.

Shiro tried to turn his face away, but it was too late -- Red had already seen him. He could hear Red's footsteps, and then the shuffle of fabric as he knelt down beside him. Shiro gave a groan and tried to push away from him, but a delicate hand cupping the side of his face stopped him from moving. He had initially flinched at the contact, but when Red didn't hurt him he relaxed and looked up. Shiro's brow furrowed at the quiet yet watchful mask above him, his nerves wanting him to keep rigid but his body simply melting into listlessness at Red's gentle touch. The Flame's free hand traveled down Shiro's body as though he was in search for something, and then stopped at Shiro's broken ankle, only taking a second to look at it before he leaned back up into Shiro's line of sight.

"If... if you're gonna kill me... do it already," he managed to whimper out, turning his head again as if it would do any good. Red took his hand away when Shiro spoke, as if he startled him. Shiro's breath rattled in his chest -- the tickle of blood in his lungs and the ache of broken ribs alerting him a bit as he tried to move away from Red again -- failing, of course, but trying nonetheless. He would need a hospital... which was going to be hell to explain to the press if he survived. Shiro trained his stare back onto Red, and gave a weak sort of growl, narrowing his eyes. "W-why are you looking at me like that? You win... just do it..."

Keith watched him for a few long moments. Studying him. Noting every little thing about him. His injuries. His exhaustion. The bags beneath his eyes and the defeat in his voice. He picked up the comm and hooked it around Shiro's ear, allowing him contact with Matt again. He leant down a little, wordlessly, and hooked one arm under Shiro's knees and another around the small of his waist to lift him off of his feet in a bridal carry. He still said nothing, starting to carry Shiro out of the building and taking him through a back exit. He set him on the floor out there and, after ensuring that Matt would be able to drive down here to pick him up, he turned away.

He was going to be in endless amounts of shit for this. Zarkon would put him through hell and he couldn't even pretend that it wasn't him because he had quite happily set Sendak aflame with the flamethrower Sendak had given him. He'd quite happily killed Sendak with his sword after savouring his screams. He'd quite happily let the torment drag on while Sendak was being burned alive before putting him out of his misery and if he'd had a choice, he would have gladly let Sendak burn to death nice and slow.

But there had been more important matters and Shiro had needed to get out of there first. Keith didn't want to be putting Shiro through more torment just because he enjoyed setting people on fire. Shiro didn't need to see Sendak die like that, anyway. He didn't need Shiro to see Sendak choke on his own blood as it boiled in his mouth.

Not even if Keith would give all the money he earned to see that.

He took his phone from his pocket and checked the time. Half past two in the morning. His eyes fixed on Shiro.

"Don't expect this act of kindness again," he said, his voice low and hissed. "Sendak had that coming for a long time. It wasn't something that I did for you and it's definitely not something I plan on doing again. Call whoever helps you, whoever's on the receiver of the comm, and get them to collect you. Get them to help you properly. Be careful, Takashi," he said, ensuring that he used Shiro's full name just to add a little more bite to his words. "Another little fuckup like that and you won't live to see the consequences."

He turned to leave after that, starting down the alley, the gun still strapped to his hip. He'd need to find somewhere to hide that when he got to Shiro's. He'd need to hide a lot of things when he got to Shiro, as if this whole double life wasn't enough.

Shiro gave a low groan when he felt the heat leave him all alone on the cold pavement of the alleyway, summoning up the rest of his strength to try and pull his head up. The blurry figure of Red was already stalking away, his fuzzy words turning eerily in Shiro's pounding head along with Matt's frantic questions that buzzed from the comm. Shiro tried to prop himself up a bit with his prosthetic, but his chest ached too badly to move -- all the action rewarded was a sharp, splitting pain somewhere in his ribs, and the thumping of his head back on the street of the ally.

"Wait," Shiro croaked, wheezing. He tried to speak a little louder, settling his fluttered eyes to a close. "Wait... why... why are you helping me? Why... why would you ever...?"

He trailed off woozily, already losing was was left of his consciousness. Matt, who had heard everything Red told Shiro earlier, was telling Shiro that he was already in the car and that Shiro's location was pulled up on his phone -- he told him desperately to hang in there. Shiro grit his teeth, and lifted his head again, ignoring the pinwheels of color that flashed in his eyes when he opened them. Red had frozen -- he heard Shiro's weak attempts to stop him and he listened.

"Why did you save me? Again?" he asked, almost sounding angry -- the delusion and the hysteria bringing out the senseless emotion in his tone. "Why do you keep doing this for me?"

Keith paused, turning to look at him. He took a couple of steps closer to Shiro and knelt down to get closer to his height.

"Takashi," he said, an edge to his voice to match the way Shiro had spoken to him. "There are people that really care about you. I'll give you this final warning to give this up and prevent them from getting hurt or to continue and know that you're close to losing them or them to losing you."

He straightened back up.

"Choose wisely." And he started back down the alley again, waiting until he'd gotten a short while away and was in a totally deserted area to pull off his mask.

Shiro had collapsed back onto the ground when red had left him there with that comment, whimpering to himself as the pain laced about his rib cage, shooting up like fire whenever he'd breathe too deeply. He gave a few deep, shuddering breaths, hearing the engine of the car in his comm from Matt's eerily silent end. Shiro grit his teeth and prepared his voice again.

"Matt?" he groaned, slurring his words. He tasted blood on his tongue and his lips when he coughed. "Matt... are you there?"

"I'm right here, Shiro," Matt assured, his voice very quiet. Matt only got quiet like that when he was worried.

Shiro pinched his eyes closed, and sighed, cringing at the zap of pain in his chest. "How bad... how bad is it? Is my suit telling you?"

Matt gave a humming sound. "Before I left, the screen said you have multiple broken ribs, a broken ankle, and a concussion," he said, the motor in Shiro's ear revving a bit as Matt sped up. "Your breathing, though... it sounds like you might have some blood in your lungs. Probably from one of your ribs. I'll take you straight home, get you out of the suit, and then you're going right to the hospital."

"I shouldn't have come..." Shiro slurred, feeling the melting sense of unconsciousness creeping up around him, muddling his senses, weighing down his hammering mind. "He killed the guards anyways... I failed them... You were right -- I couldn't do it."

There was a long silence. "Shiro, please just shut up and hang in there," Matt murmured into the comm. "I'll give you the I told you so when you're stable. For now just save your strength."

Shiro nodded, but he didn't say anything. Instead he just laid there on the cold, wet cement, fighting to stay awake.

Hang in there.


	16. Morphine and Stuffed Lions

Standing outside of the hospital door, Keith was so tense he could barely raise his hand to knock on Shiro's door. He didn't know what to do, half of his brain wanting him to turn and leave and tell Shiro that something cropped up but the other part of his mind wanting him to go in and to help. Part of him even wanted to just stand here and let everything pass him by until he didn't need to leave.

He knew what had happened. He knew that Shiro had been admitted in the early hours of the morning yesterday and Matt had refused to let Keith come until around six in the evening over a day later because he hadn't wanted Keith fucking up the healing process or encouraging Shiro to do anything stupid. He knew that he'd given Shiro a fair majority of those wounds. He knew that there would be one thing predominantly on Shiro's mind until he got an answer to his question.

'Why had Red saved him?'

And he knew that he'd only saved Shiro because it really hit him in that moment how important to him Shiro was. He only realised then how much his gut twisted when Shiro was in pain, writhing, coughing up his own blood and a matter of seconds away from dying. It had only truly occured to him what he'd done when Sendak was already dying that agonising death. When the flames were eating away at him and there was no way to undo it. 

He still had the look of pure fear on Shiro's face ingrained into his mind. How was he supposed to respond to seeing something like that? Shiro, who he had been in love with for an indeterminable amount of time. Shiro, who had looked at him with pure fear in his eyes in the moment that Keith had turned to face him. Shiro, had looked him in the eyes and dared Keith to finish him off, just to kill him. Shiro, who was going to work incessantly to find out who he was because he thought that Red might tell Zarkon that Shiro is the Black Paladin.

But, after a few moments of this painful hesitation, he raised his hand and knocked on the door, awaiting Matt's appearance and that grimace that was always on his lips when Keith was present.

The door opened after a few moments and, like Keith had assumed, Matt's tired features went a little bitter at the sight of Keith. He looked Keith up and down, frowning, his dark eyes narrowed a bit before he offered a long, impatient sigh. Matt stepped aside, holding the door open.

"I still don't think you should be here," Matt mumbled, flicking his eyes off to the side. "But Shiro insisted. Fair warning -- he's pretty spaced right now. Higher than a kite on all the fuckin' pain meds he's on." He lifted his hand, and pointed a thumb towards the hospital bed behind him where Shiro was.

He looked drowsy -- completely out of it, nestled underneath hospital sheets and blankets, connected to IV drips and heart monitors. Shiro's head had been turned towards the window, as if he hadn't noticed Matt even get up and let Keith in, but the patched up damage was still rather apparent. The right side of his face had been taped up in all the places his shattered mask had sliced him. White medical bandages could be seen wrapped around his neck from behind the collar of the hospital shirt they made him wear, and they traveled all the way down his torso, wrapped tightly around his broken ribs. Shiro's foot was propped up on a pillow at the end of the bed. It hadn't been properly casted yet, just wrapped up -- the ugly purple-green bruise could be seen crawling past the tight bandages and up the side of his leg, disappearing beneath the hem of the blanket.

It wasn't until Matt closed the door behind Keith that he noticed the change in the room. Shiro turned his head around, and his hazy eyes instantly brightened.

"Keith!" he chirped, offering a crooked smile. His voice was slurred, drawn out and groggy, even with his newfound excitement. "You came! That's great... really... I missed you so much."

Matt gave a long sigh, stepping past Keith and towards the chair dragged over to the side of the bed. By the amount of coffee cups and the look of his tired eyes, it was obvious he had been sitting at Shiro's side ever since he was admitted there. "He won't stop talking about you," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "To be fair he won't stop talking about his cats either."

"Look, if you could stop being a dick for a little bit that would be great. We should be focused on Shiro here, not the fact that you hate my guts and I despise everything about you." Keith pushed his way to the chair in the corner of the room, pulling it to the other side of Shiro's bed and settling down beside him. He smiled gently, moving one hand to take Shiro's hand carefully, not wanting to upset any of the wires or dislodge them.

He looked at Shiro as he lay there, paler than usual, weak, his eyes glassy with haziness that was likely from the drugs, a stupid little smile curled onto his smooth lips. Lips that Keith had kissed and desperately wanted to kiss again. Maybe if he did, Shiro wouldn't remember by the time the meds faded.

He shook off the thought.

"Hey, Kash," he said softly, squeezing his hand a little and earning a gentle, weaker squeeze for his efforts. "How are you feeling? You don't look too sharp." He reached up, flicking some stray white hairs from Shiro's face and managing to force a little sympathetic smile. Even though it sickened him to see Shiro like this. Even though it made his stomach twist with an agony of guilt knowing that he was responsible for this. If he had killed Sendak sooner, he might have been able to stop Shiro from being nearly this torn up. If he'd killed him later- hesitated for even a second longer- Sendak could have killed Shiro.

This was the worst outcome that could have come from that situation- not even going into how Zarkon would respond to his betrayal. Or the danger it could put his family in.

Before Shiro could reply, though, Keith was digging around in his bag and pulled out a small stuffed toy, about the size of his forearm. It was a little black lion, with a fluffy mane and two blue beads for eyes. He offered it out to Shiro.  
"I brought it," he said. "You gave it to me... what, eight years ago? Because I was having those horrible nightmares? Imagine sixteen year old me sleeping with a teddy every night until the nightmares went away. But, you know, the nightmares are gone and I don't even sleep so I thought you'd need it more now." He settled it in the crook of Shiro's arm, smiling fondly at him. "I made sure he was safe, even from Kosmo, in case you would want me to return it one day. Or in case you needed it." But mostly because he treasured the gift Shiro had given him. Because if he held it close and pressed his nose against it he could smell Shiro. And he liked to curl up around it and imagine how Shiro would hug it when he slept.

But that wasn't important.

Shiro looked down to the stuffed lion, and a slight little sparkle seemed to shimmer in his glassy eyes, smile growing a little more genuine rather than a simple mindless high. Just the very texture instilled a warm sense of comfort — before he had given it to Keith, it was his. Night after sleepless night a young, lonely Shiro would hug it tight, using the silly little lion plush to chase away his own nightmares. It was what he named Black after. It was actually the reason Shiro got Black in the first place — he had given it to Keith, and he needed something else to fill the gap it left. He almost couldn't believe it was there, that little old thing, tucked in the crook of his arm. Instinctively, Shiro hugged it close to his chest, ignoring the slight pang of discomfort somewhere deep within the pain meds. He looked up to Keith, eyes still shimmery.

"Gosh Keith... thanks..." he said, not really capturing his overwhelming gratefulness in his sluggish tone. "I missed him." Shiro tilted his head down into its puffy main, and settled his eyes closed as he inhaled. "Smells like you too... that's a plus..."

Matt snorted. He reached a hand up and settled it on Shiro's shoulder. "Alright, big guy. Just don't cry over it, okay?" he said, smirking a little. "I don't think you have any tears left."

Shiro had been awake for maybe two hours, and in those two hours he must have bursted into tears about fifty something times. The first ten alone were about him being guilty for going behind Matt's back. The next ten times were just over him not liking hospitals. The rest were just about trivial, silly things — like Keith or how much Shiro missed the cats. Matt always knew that Shiro was a sad drunk, but he had to admit that Shiro was even worse when he was high.

He furrowed his brow up at Matt, frowning a little as he leaned up from the lion. "I don't think I can just run out of tears," he argued, shaking his head a little. "That's not possible."

Matt laughed a little. "Whatever you wanna think, Shiro." He took his hand off of Shiro's shoulder and turned to Keith, sighing a little. Matt tried to keep his tone to somewhat of a normal state — not so flat — when he spoke again. "What is the news saying? We're trying to keep this as quiet as possible but... when you've got a name as big as Shiro does, it's kinda hard. I've already chased away some guys from the press."

"Those assholes," Shiro blurted from the bed, giggling a little. "They don't care about me. They just want a juicy story. Not like they'd believe me anyways. I fought a m-"

"A mugger," Matt cut in loudly, sighing a little. "You were mugged, Shiro. There wasn't a monster."

"Did Shiro try to tell them he fought a monster?" Keith asked, sitting by the bed, looking down at Shiro and brushing his hair from his face again, finding that it fell into his face all too easily. "That's... I can't blame them for not believing, that's all that I'm going to say."

He focused his attention solely on Shiro, who had a big grin on his lips and was giggling about every little thing. Even in this kind of a state he had his charm. That was just the curse that Shiro was forced to carry- the burden of being unapologetically beautiful.

 

What was it with Keith today? He usually found it easy to distract himself from these thoughts. He usually found it easy to ignore his urge to kiss Shiro's lips or toy with his hair until he dozed off. He normally had no issues with looking at him when he was sleepy and not wanting to lie beside him. He'd never had issues before with Shiro's undeniable handsomeness and his own repressed feelings. He'd expected it to get worse after that night that they'd fucked but it was still getting worse. Much, much worse, with each passing moment and second. It was killing him. It was going to kill him.

If this line of work wasn't going to be the death of him, the sleepy little smile and the pure love in Shiro's eyes was going to.

"Come on," he said to Shiro. "You look tired. You should get some rest."

Shiro frowned at him. "But you just got here," he mumbled in a quiet sort of pout. Shiro hugged the stuffed animal a little tighter -- a little closer. His eyes flicked around the hospital room. "I don't want to sleep. This place gives me bad vibes. Besides, I always look tired." The nervous features were instantly ditched for a crooked smirk as he brought his eyes back up to Keith's. "You just can't tell because I'm so Goddamn good at makeup."

"Trust me, Shiro, we can tell," Matt said, his smile fading. He turned to Keith, and lowered his voice a bit, reaching his hand up to cover his mouth from Shiro's curious gaze. "Doctor said the pain meds should knock him back out soon -- he can fight it all he wants but he'll be out like a light in fifteen to twenty minutes I think."

"Good," Keith said, a little smile on his lips. "Then you can go out and get snacks or something while I keep an eye on him."

Shiro, a little frustrated he was being left out, started to push up from the mattress. The only thing his effort earned was a sharp stab somewhere in his ribs -- that pain slicing past all of the drugs. He winced, uttering out a slight groan as he slumped back into the bed, eyes screwed tight as the feeling began to subside.

"Ow..." he whined, tears prickling at the corners of his eyelids. He gave a pouty huff, looking downright pitiful as he looked up to Matt. "It hurts."

Matt frowned at him, leaning forwards a little. "I know," he said, sighing. He reached a hand over to Shiro's giving his arm a little pat. "Maybe you should take Keith's advice and try to fall asleep -- that'll help. And when you wake up you'll be back to normal. Which is gonna be... hard."

Shiro laughed and rolled his eyes, too high to really understand what he'd been saying.

He leaned back, rolling his shoulders a little bit before he stood up from his chair. "I'm... gonna go make a coffee run," Matt mumbled, reaching a hand up to rub his eyes. He looked at Keith when he was done, stifling a yawn into his fist. "Is there anything you want? I'm just going to the place a few blocks down from the hospital. The coffee here sucks."

"Just get me the strongest shit you can," Keith said, shrugging slightly. "I'm not too fussy. And maybe get some snacks, both for me and for Shiro. He gets snacky when he wakes up and these pain meds, added to not having anything to do, will make him hungry as hell. And maybe a hot chocolate for Shiro in case he's still awake when you get back." He moved to sit a little closer to the bed, settling one hand on Shiro's arm and smiling at him. It was getting easier to ignore his guilt by now. "It'll just be you and me for a little while, Shiro. That okay? Matt's just going to go and get coffee."

 

His fingers began to work their way through Shiro's hair again and he hummed softly, finding him to be much more tolerable in this state- when he wasn't been too brash and protective and was focusing more on himself and what he wanted.

Shiro gave a drowsy nod, leaning into Keith's gentle touches with a soft little sigh. "That's okay... as long as he comes back," he murmured flicking his eyes up at Matt. His voice lowered down into a poor sort of whisper as he turned back to Keith, features shimmering with a light sense of guilt beneath the fuzziness. "He's mad at me."

Matt snorted as he shrugged on his coat. "I'm not mad at you, Shiro," he said, sighing a little. "I just told you that when the high wears off we're going to have to have some serious talks about your decision making."

Cringing, Shiro gave Keith a scared sort of look and shook his head a little.

Before the issue could be commented on again, however, Matt was calling out a tired goodbye, promising Shiro that he'd be right back as he slipped out of the door to Shiro's hospital room. Shiro watched him go, distracted by the sounds of the door for a moment or so before the feeling of Keith's hand in his hair drew him back, a gentle smile curling at the corners of his lips.

"Keith," he hummed, as if Keith didn't know his own name. "Hi... I think it's just me and you now. That's nice... I like it when it's like that."

A little smile appeared on Keith's lips and he moved one hand to settle on Shiro's, watching him with a little fascination, curious to see what he might say. What he would do. What secrets Shiro would spill that Keith didn't already know.  
"Me too," he said softly to Shiro, smiling fondly down at him. "I don't like it too much when Matt's around. He's never in a good mood as long as I'm there."

 

Sending another little look to the door- making sure that it was closed- Keith sighed a little. He still felt so guilty, like he shouldn't be there, his stomach twisting a little every time he noted a new bruise or cut or burn wound on Shiro's body. He couldn't bare to look at the other side of Shiro's face, where it was almost entirely wrapped in bandages, his shoulders tensed up.  
"Now that we're alone, though... I guess you won't be getting into any more trouble if you say the wrong thing. Matt's always trying to police you."

Shiro gave a snicker, and shook his head a little. "He does but that's 'cuz he needs to. I've got secrets I can't talk about," he said, trying to be firm but ending up giggling at the thought anyways. "There's stuff that even you don't know about me. Stuff I wanna tell you but... I can't or else you might be in danger. And it doesn't matter how much I want to tell you — I'd never ever put you in danger. I love you too much for that..."

He paused a moment or so as the words settled, his goofy smile fading into a sad sort of frown. Tears began to well up in his eyes — a lump forming in his throat. When Shiro spoke again, his voice was very quiet. Nervous and tentative — watery eyes trained only Keith.

"Did you know that? That I love you?" he asked, sniffling a little. Something in him, deep beneath all of those drugs, began to scream at him to stop— but the words just continued to spill from his lips. If Shiro couldn't tell his secret identity, he would tell Keith something else. "Not in a friend way, though. I'm in love with you, I think... and I think it was even before you had sex with me. And it sucks because.... because I know you don't love me back, and even if you did I can't because I might hurt you." Shiro ducked a little closer to his lion, hugging the stuffed toy tight to his chest again. "So it doesn't even matter."

Keith was silent for a long while, watching Shiro, brushing his thumb along Shiro's knuckles slowly and carefully, as if that would help him bide his time until he could say something.  
"I knew," he said eventually, though he couldn't meet Shiro's eyes. "But I can't say how I feel about it or why because of the danger that would put you in and the position it would put me in. You're sweet, though, and you're always so caring and cautious..." he moved Shiro's hair from his forehead again and leant in, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead. "Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you."

He pulled back after a moment, though, even pulling his hand back. Checking the time, then his phone. "Matt's going to be bringing you back a hot chocolate," he explained softly. "Try and stay awake until then so that you can have it. Is there anything else that you want in the meantime? Anything I can do for you?" he didn't want to invest any more time in the conversation about Shiro's feelings for him. He didn't want to address it. He wished Shiro hadn't said anything but it was truthful- he always knew. It was obvious that he knew. It was obvious that Shiro loved him and it had been obvious for months. Years, possibly.

He'd just been hoping that he was misreading some signs. Either that or he'd been hoping that it was nothing but a mutual crush that would fade over time. He hadn't been so lucky.

Shiro's temporary heartbreak was washed away with the kiss and the promise of hot chocolate, and he offered a smile, blinking away his tears. He thought about Keith's questions for a moment or so, as if he was really racking his brain to find something for Keith to do. The idea came to him, and his tired eyes lit up a bit more.

"Do you think... maybe... you could lay down on the bed with me?" Shiro asked too hopeful for his own good. "Just until Matt comes back. I never liked hospitals. I was stuck in one for a year and a half after the accident... all alone... I think I'd be more comfortable if someone laid down with me. Especially if it was you..."

It was almost like he had already forgotten his previous confession of love. Shiro still looked at Keith as though he'd been the world, though. Like he believed with his whole heart that Keith could do nothing wrong. Like he could go through all of his current pain and more all over again just to make Keith smile.

Keith smiled ever so slightly, his eyes flickering to Shiro and then to the door before he slid out of his seat. He settled down in the bed beside him, lying on his side with his head next to Shiro's. He looked over at him, concern clear in his eyes but a little smile on his lips.  
"Are you feeling okay?" he asked softly. "Aside from the medication, of course... is there anything that you want to talk about? Anything other than how much you hate hospitals?" And anything other than how much keith loved him would be good too but he couldn't exactly complain about that. He couldn't bring it up, either, not wanting to remind Shiro that it had been mentioned and make him talk about it more.

"If you're trying to get me to tell you the truth about what happened, it's not going to work," Shiro said, giggling a little -- oblivious to the fact that he had just given away that he and Matt were already lying. He turned his head into Keith's chest, pretending it didn't hurt his face when he snuggled a little closer. "It would give away my biggest secret and I can't do that. Nuh-uh. Not only would Matt kill me, but I probably would kill me too." He snorted at the idea. "If that makes any sense."

He was getting sleepier and sleepier with Keith at his side. Something warm was blooming in his system, warm and calming -- inspired from just the mere presence of Keith so close to him. It was like the stuffed lion. Keith just had the power to make Shiro feel that much better. Even with everything that had happened. Even with all those ugly emotions resting beneath Shiro's heavy blanket of drugs. All the confusion and anger and sadness and guilt... Keith just seemed to flush it all away. Shiro envied that.

"Remember like years ago when I had that stupid conspiracy that somebody killed my parents? Instead of some stupid car wreck?" Shiro asked, quiet and tired. He waited until he felt Keith nod before going on. "Well, I just found out that I was right... and I don't really know how I feel about it. All I know is... I think I'm going to try and take down the people who did it. Even if it kills me... which it almost has. Twice." Shiro fluttered his eyes open and flicked them up to Keith. "But pretend I didn't tell you that, okay? Matt is already so mad at me as it is..."

Keith watched him, studying him, deadly silent as he let the information and the promise sink in. 

Shiro was determined to take down who did it. He wasn't going to quit this vigilante work until he had. Keith either had to bite the bullet and kill Shiro already or he had to quit while he could. Either way, Shiro would die before he could achieve anything and leave an empty gaping hole in Keith's chest. What was he going to do? Step down and let Shiro get himself killed or kill Shiro himself?

"Shiro, I... Come on, you think you could take down something like that?" he said, a little smile on his lips, trying to act as if he wasn't so scared and worried. "Please, you need to focus on yourself. You need to be more careful for your own sake." Keith hesitated, debating trying to sway Shiro even more, but he realised that Shiro was too high to really care in this situation and he fell quiet. He just returned to petting Shiro's hair, watching him with those tired eyes, as full of love and kindness as ever. "Just... we could talk about it another time, okay? I don't want to address this right now..."

Nodding, Shiro settled his eyes to a close again, breathing out a low sigh. "Okay, Keith. Whatever you say," he murmured drowsily. Happily. It had been a long time since he felt so light and airy -- so on top of the world for no reason at all. Shiro couldn't tell if it was because the drugs or Keith with him there. Maybe it was the ghost of Keith's kiss still lingering on his forehead.

"Keith... can I ask you a question?" Shiro's voice was a little more slurred than before -- it was obvious he was nearly on the brink of falling asleep.

"If you want to ask me something, go ahead," Keith murmured, his eyes fixed on Shiro as he continued to run his fingers through Shiro's hair, liking how it felt. Shiro always had such soft hair. It was nice.

"Why do you smell like smoke?" he asked. There wasn't a trace of anger in his tone -- his quiet, innocent words far from anything that could be accusatory. The only thing that had been there was the soft pitch of confusion. Maybe even a dash of strange curiosity. "It's always on you. The smell, I mean. And you lied about it last time I asked so... I thought I'd ask again." He gave the slightest smirk, eyes still closed as he snuggled a little closer into Keith's chest. "I am in the hospital and all. You have to tell me the truth now. "

Keith watched him. He knew that Shiro wouldn't have believed some half-assed lie about smoking, but what could he say? Because he was secretly an arsonist? Because he loved fire and wanted other people to experience the same hell his father had? Because he just liked how it felt when he burned matches down so low that they burned his fingertips?

He hesitated, sighing a little.  
"Why do you always smell like coffee and vanilla?" The safest course of action was just to divert the focus of the conversation onto something else. That something, this time, was Shiro- who even in hospital had that little lingering scent of vanilla and black coffee. Something about it fit him perfectly. Maybe that was one of the reasons why Keith didn't mind it when Shiro hugged him or kept him close. "Do you wear perfume or something?"

Shiro smiled, laughing a little. "It's my shampoo," he admitted, blushing -- as pale as he was, Keith never failed to bring color to his cheeks. "Super nice stuff. Makes my hair so soft. Matt makes fun of me because technically it's women's shampoo but I don't want to smell like wolves and Zeus's armpit you know?" His own joke made him laugh to the point of hurting his chest a little -- it took a moment or so for him to collect himself from his giggles. By then, he had forgotten all about what he had asked Keith. "The coffee smell is obvious. I don't sleep much anymore, and those stupid five hour energy things are unhealthy."

He looked up at Keith, fluttering his eyes open. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

"No, no," Keith said, smiling fondly at him. "It's nice. It's comforting, even. You're so tired, Shiro. Are you sure that you'll be able to stay awake long enough to get your hot chocolate? I'd hate for it to go to waste. Oh, how will Matt live without like three pounds of his money? It might kill him. He might have to declare bankruptcy, Shiro."

Letting out a soft laugh at his own joke, Keith pressed another soft kiss to Shiro's forehead, not worrying about showing him platonic affection, knowing how comfortable Shiro was with it.

"Get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up."

~~~

Keith was there when Shiro woke up again...

Even if Shiro didn't remember Keith's promise at all.

In fact, Shiro couldn't remember anything after losing consciousness in that dark alleyway after the fight -- maybe the flash of bright, hospital lights there, and some scattered images of a nervous Matt... but other than that, there was nothing. Nothing but Sendak, the fire, the Red Flame, and then the cold pavement of the alleyway.

And that didn't really sit well with him when he woke up.

Shiro was still drowsy of course -- there were still some pain medicines traveling their sluggish way through his bloodstream -- but he wasn't drowsy enough to keep from feeling alert once he had gathered his senses together from the depths of his drugged sleep. His eyes had snapped open wide, his aching body going tense as the confusion flooded his system. He didn't recognize the room he was in. It had taken him even longer to recognize the hospital environment, and of course that didn't make him feel any better. It wasn't until Shiro caught sight of Keith beside him and Matt in the chair at the bedside that the hot fear in his system began to die down a little. He eased down a little, heart beating a little loud in his chest as he tried to collect the facts.

Matt was asleep, slumped over in the chair. Keith, though... Keith seemed to be stirring a bit. Shiro looked down at him, part of him wanting to keep from disturbing his friend but the other part simply yelling at him to get some answers. Shiro leaned over to him, trying hard to ignore every beep of the machinery or every smell of medicine and antiseptic. His croaking voice was nervous as he whispered out Keith's name.

"Keith? Are you awake?" Shiro began to reach his hand up to try and settle it on Keith's shoulder, but, without the heavier meds keeping everything at bay, a shot of pain sliced through his ribs -- hot and angry. He cringed, biting back a whimper, and resorted back to just whispering. "Keith? Please wake up. I need you to tell me what happened. Where are we?"

Keith, grumbling, groggy and exhausted, let his eyes flutter open to fix on Shiro's concerned face. His brows furrowed as he tried to process the questions, slowly nodding.  
"Yeah... fuck, yeah, I'm awake," he mumbled as he wiped his eyes, trying to shake off the lingering grogginess. "We're in the hospital, man, you got fucked up."

Pushing himself to sit up a little, Keith glanced over at Matt and then at some of the bags scattered about. He reached into one and pulled out two cold sandwiches from the deli, offering one to Shiro.

"Eat up. You've gotta be hungry, you didn't eat anything yesterday and fell asleep before you could even have something to drink. I'll explain whatever I know when you've eaten, okay? You've gotta get some food in you before you do anything else. Matt's orders."

Shiro looked at the cold sandwich in Keith's hand, too embarrassed to admit he'd probably hurt himself if he leaned up to try and take it. He could feel the frustration build in his system, the nerves simply making his skin crawl. More and more memories of the fight were seeping into Shiro's consciousness. All the blows. Everything Sendak said. The Flame seeing his identity. Shiro could feel the problems multiply, building one on top of the other so quickly he knew he wouldn't be able to catch up unless he acted fast.

"I'm not hungry," he said, shaking his head a little. His eyes flicked to one of the water bottles on his bedside table, and he nodded to it with his head -- feeling the dry sting of his throat when he spoke again. "I can't say I'm not thirsty though. I'll drink all you want me to."

He took the water bottle when Keith had handed it to him, suppressing the urge to cringe at the pain in his back and in his chest. Before he took a sip, however, he trained his eyes onto Keith. He could feel Keith's warmth through the blankets -- smell his normal scent behind all of the unnerving hospital smells. Beside Keith was a familiar little stuffed lion, the sight making Shiro's heart twist in his chest a bit. He wondered how it had gotten there as his free hand absently went to go hold onto it, just the touch of its fur on his fingertips soothing his panic.

"How long was I out?" Shiro asked, slowly bringing the water bottle to his lips. It felt wonderful against his hoarse throat, rushing past the burn with a sweet, pleasurable coolness that made Shiro desperate for more. He didn't let himself gulp it though -- he knew it would only make him throw up. He simply tilted the bottle back, offered a shaky sigh, and prepared himself for talking again. "What is the news saying? God, I shouldn't have gone to the hospital -- all it does it make a big scene that the press can just lap up." Another sip.

His hands were shaking a little. Part of him was overjoyed to have Keith so close to him, but the other part wished it was just him and Matt so he could ask the important questions -- the ones that seemed to be ripping him apart from the inside out.

What did the police do when they found Sendak's body? Have you heard anything about Red? What if Red tells Zarkon my identity? What did you tell the cops? What's out cover story? How am I going to explain this to Curtis?

Shiro closed his eyes tight and tried to drown all of the worries out. He had no choice -- there was nothing he could do about any of them until Keith left.

Keith looked at Shiro, noticing the worry and the concern pressed about his features that could only mean that he was thinking about last night. The lack of attempts to initiate conversation meant that Shiro clearly wasn't going to be able to discuss them with Keith, so keith could either wait here until Matt woke up or wake Matt and then leave, say he was going to get a coffee or something.

He figured that there was no harm in waiting a little longer to let Shiro talk to Matt. He wanted to talk to Shiro and spend a little more time with him as it was before Matt was in the equation again. After all, yesterday, it hadn't gone too well with Matt after the coffee run. Something about lying in Shiro's bed had pissed him off and somewhere in there Matt had decided to throw in every reason why he didn't like Keith. Not that Keith was any better to him but it wasn't like he was being rude initially, like Matt. This was just a stressful situation but Keith didn't appreciate having so many arguments started. He didn't like being attacked by Matt for no reason.

"How are you feeling? You look like shit, in the nicest way, and I can see you wincing every time you move. What's the damage, big guy?" he asked, silently cringing afterwards at his stupid way of phrasing all of that. He couldn't take it back, though, or comment on it without being mocked so he left it at that and waited for Shiro's reply.

Shiro furrowed his brow at him, flicking his eyes down to the bed. "I... I'm fine," he said, swallowing hard. "I mean, I feel like I've been hit by a bus. And then by a train after that. And then the bus went in reverse while I was laying in the road." He snickered a little, and then cringed at the feeling. "I'm just kinda confused -- my head's fuzzy. I mean, I get it if you're trying to distract me and everything but I think I'd just feel better if you answered some questions..."

He gave a soft sigh, settling his eyes closed as he reached the bottle back up for another sip. "I'm guessing I've only been here for maybe a day or two? Did I wake up at all?" he asked in a tired murmur. "I've got... flashes. But it feels a little hazy. Like it was a dream or something."

"That's probably because you were high as hell on pain meds. You woke up and rambled at me a lot over a bunch of different things. You've been here two days but I've only been here one. And no, I wasn't trying to distract you, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay if you can handle that, Shiro." Keith moved to slump back down, having left both of the sandwiches where they were. He wasn't especially hungry and if Shiro wasn't going to eat then he wouldn't either. 

Running one hand through his hair, Keith let his attention fix on Shiro again. "You really do look like shit, though. Just in case you didn't already know. Do you want me to wake Matt up? I'm gonna head out to get some coffee for us all in a moment so I could wake him up to keep you company while I'm gone."

Shiro felt his face flush up with red at the touch of Keith's hand in his hair and the comment about his high rambles. "Oh... I hope I didn't say anything stupid," he mumbled, offering a weak sort of scoff. The look Keith gave him for the comment made him blush even more. "Also yeah... I wouldn't mind talking to Matt. Even though I'm sure he's going to make fun of me for all the shit I must have said. It's bad enough on the rare occasion I get drunk... but I've never been blackout high before."

As much as Shiro wanted Keith to stay beside him on the bed, he knew it would be best if Keith left him alone with Matt for awhile. His eyes drifted down to the lion tucked against Shiro's chest, and Shiro drearily figured it would be something to hold onto while Keith was away. He was sure it must have smelled like him -- not that Shiro's dignity would ever let him willingly sniff it in front of Keith, of course. Shiro gave a soft sigh and held the lion a little closer to his chest as he watched Keith shift to the edge of the bed.

"Will you come back? After, uh, coffee I mean." Shiro cleared his throat a little, hoping he didn't seem too clingy. "I mean, you don't have to. I'd just like some... friendly faces, I guess."

"Shiro, I said i was getting coffee for us all. I'm going to come back with the coffee." Shiro blushed again, feeling stupid. Keith pushed himself to his feet, sighing a little and nudging Matt as he walked past. When that didn't work, he grabbed Matt's wrist- of the hand that was supporting his head- and pulled it out from under his chin to jolt him awake. He'd already taken the money for coffee from Shiro's wallet so he left before Matt could regain his senses and be aware enough to yell at him.

With one last little sigh, money in one pocket and his phone in the other, Keith pulled the door shut behind him and dialled Lance's number as he began on his way to the coffee shop. He wanted to give Shiro and Matt plenty of time to talk so he was looking to waste as much time as he possibly could. Lance was always good at helping him distract himself until he'd wasted all the time he had and more. It was perfect.

So he left the hospital, planning on being gone for forty-five minutes at maximum.

Matt gave a groan, rubbing his eyes a little as he processed what had just happened. By the time he realized it however, Keith was gone -- leaving Matt to bitterly grumble to himself as he lifted up his heavy head. His tired eyes landed on Shiro, and a smile tugged at his lips, shoulders slumping a little as he pushed the thought of Keith away.

"Hey, buddy," he said through a stifled yawn. "How are you doin'? Still high off your tits?"

Shiro shook his head, managing to express a twitch of a smile. "No, I think I'm back down on Earth," he said, sighing a little. "Which I guess means you can yell at me now? I mean, honestly I deserve a punch in the face for going behind your back but I think I'd prefer if you held back on that until the stitches heal."

Matt sleepy grin curled into a smirk. "How bold of you to assume I'd punch you in the face. What you deserve is a shot under the fuckin' belt," he said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Yikes." Shiro offered Matt a wince. "You're that mad at me?"

There was a pause -- a pause Shiro was sure Matt only conducted for dramatic suspense -- before his friend offered a slight shake of his head and a rolling of his eyes. "I'm not that mad, Shiro. Just concerned," he said, some of the playfulness from before fading from his overall demeanor. "What you did was... stupid. Reckless. It's like you were trying to throw your life away. And that's not even touching on all the mess we're going to have to clean up because of this."

"I... I know. I don't even have an explanation for," Shiro mumbled, looking back down to the hospital sheets. He could feel the atmosphere grow a little bit more somber as Matt's tone flattened. He closed his eyes, holding that stuffed lion a little closer to him as he braced himself for the rest of the conversation. "How bad is it?"

Matt sighed deeply -- a long, exhausted breath that huffed from his nose. "Pretty bad," he said, blunt as always. "Press has been up my ass. Doesn't help that you were trying to blab about everything while you were on drugs. We got some very high eyebrows from the doctors. I haven't been letting anybody know anything but you know how they are. Someone snapped a picture. Someone paid off one of the nurses in the hospital. Rumors are that you got mugged but... if someone from the Galra sees this, it won't be hard for them to connect the dots. Especially since the Black Paladin won't be making too many appearances while you're recovering."

"God damnit," Shiro whispered out between his clenched teeth. "Anything about... about Red?"

"No, no. I don't think we have to worry about him. He did save your life, after all," Matt said, voice finally growing a little bit more optimistic. "Even so I'm checking every news website I know. Lotor's even got an eye on some... or, uh, an ear, I guess. Speaking of Lotor, he's coming over later today. "

Shiro gave a soft groan. "Ugh. If you don't kill me, he definitely will. He'll never let me hear the end of this." He fluttered his eyes open and turned to look at Matt again, clenching his water bottle a little tighter in his hand. "How about Curtis? I'm sure since he's like... sort of my boyfriend or whatever he's got to be worried about me."

Matt shrugged a little. "He stopped by when you were knocked out. Wasn't a fan of you cuddling with Keith, but he left you flowers anyways." He nodded to the far wall and Shiro turned his head, frowning a little at the beautifully assorted bouquet of chrysanthemums and rosemallows set in a vase on the windowsill. "I told him to come back in a day or so. He could be here whenever."

"Well, that was nice of him," Shiro said weakly, the discomfort very present in his tone as he turned his head back around to face Matt. "So... what's the cover story? What even is wrong with me anyways?"

"To start off, you had a pretty serious concussion. The doctor was almost worried you might have had some bleeders in your brain, but you got lucky," Matt started, crossing one of his legs over the other and leaning back into his chair. "You did have some internal bleeding though. Plenty of broken ribs -- ribs that were already broken before are worse. Your ankle is fucked. You're lucky all those cuts on your face won't scar. Other than that it's your normal cuts and bruises. Only reason I took you to the hospital was because your breathing sounded so scary. And you were unresponsive and throwing up -- not good signs with head trauma and all."

Shiro shook his head a little. "Jesus..."

Matt ignored him and went on. "We've got a few options for cover story," he said. "We could go with the press and say you were mugged. We could say it had something to do with the charred corpse the police found in your building -- maybe we could peg it all on the Red Flame and say he was fighting some other villain at your building and when you went to investigate you got fucked up. There's always you just not talking to the press and laying low until you heal up, but that's damn near impossible. Whatever the story is gonna be, it'll be a stretch."

"I'll figure it out," Shiro said feeling a good seven times more exhausted at all of the work to be done. "I'm leaning towards option two but I'm afraid if we mess with Red too much he'll get a little chatty about my secret identity..."

A blooming sense of hopelessness began to wash over him, the feeling cold and bitter as it filled up his chest cavity. Shiro shut his eyes and shook his head a little. "God... what the hell did I get us into?" he asked, tone a little broken sounding. Some of the emotions from before began to pour back into his system, but there were no drugs to make it silly or cute. Instead they felt raw. Angry. They hurt him -- maybe a little more than each and every one of his wounds. Shiro could feel the lump rising up in his throat and he suddenly hoped to God and back that he wouldn't cry. Not only was it pathetic, but Shiro was sure it would hurt his chest like hell.

"I... I didn't even save anyone, Matt. All of this mess for what? To get beaten up by a mutant? To give Red my identity? I can certainly say that it wasn't to learn my parents were killed by the Galra which really is the perfect cherry on the top of this whole fucking mess."

Shiro's voice cracked at the swear, bit he held his breath, biting back the painful, rugged sob he could feel rising like a lead bubble in his chest. He was shaking again, eyes screwed into a tight close, teeth clenched so hard his jaw muscles pulsed with the effort. Matt was dead silent as he watched his friend force back tears, the quiet forcing the atmosphere into a tensioned mass of discomfort with a hint of pity that made Shiro's skin simply crawl.

"I'm... I'm sorry, Shiro," Matt murmured after a while. "I'm sorry that you had to figure it out like that. I'm sorry I... I'm sorry I didn't believe you all those years ago, too. You were right all along.."

Shiro nodded, his exhale trembly when he finally let his breath free. "It's alright. I'm okay." His frail voice didn't seem to carry what his words tried to convey. "I don't know if that makes it better or worse. That I was right, I mean. Like it's a bittersweet 'I told you so'."

He took a deep breath as it all rushed to him -- everything he'd been holding back since his last big breakdown. The one everyone talked about on the internet. The one where he grew his hair out and stopped shaving and spent his days slaving over a corkboard of string and newspaper clippings, obsessed with a murder he couldn't prove. Before he had his vigilante work to tie him down. Before he had a purpose in life.

"It's just now I know that these... these bastards, the Galra? They took the only family I had," Shiro started, his voice a little darker. Blank. Scary sounding. Matt instantly stiffened at the sound of it, recognizing the tone. He couldn't stop Shiro before he went on. "They wrecked my parents car while we were on our way for ice cream. The car slammed in on my side. Flipped over twice and landed on the ceiling. My parents died instantly. The glass sliced right across my face..."

"It was the Galra that made me sit there, pinned underneath the crushed door of the car with glass shards in my chest, and watch as my dead parents' blood mixed with the car fuel. They made me have to know what brains looked like at eleven because they were splattered all over the front windows-"

"Shiro, it's okay," Matt cut in, leaning up in his chair a bit. His eyes were on Shiro's vitals on that little machine beside him, watching the blood pressure steadily rise. Watching his heart rate speed up with every few words. Watching his breathing grow a bit faster -- a bit more shallow. He settled a hand on Shiro's arm. "Hey, hey. You're okay, Shiro. Look at me. Stop talking about it."

Shiro shook his head. "Don't you get it? It's their fault I don't have an arm. It's their fault I grew up too fast. It's their fault everyone used to look at me like I was going to snap at any moment! And they still look at me like I'm still some kid ready to burst into tears because my parents are dead but I'm not! I'm not, Matt! It's their fault the only way I can feel better about myself is by protecting this city and they think they can just take it away from me too? No! I won't let them. No matter how many times Red saves my life. No matter how many fucking mutants they have. They won't take this city and they won't kill me."

He was panting -- his breath rattling painfully in his chest. Tears were streaming down his face by then, his eyes wide and wild with mindless rage. It wasn't until he saw himself in the reflection of Matt's glasses until he began to cool down. It was almost the exact image of how he looked at Lotor's when he had been just about ready to punch him, his fist pulled back, ready for the blow. The thought made his bloodstream feel as though it had been pumped full of ice.

He brought his hands up to his face, ignoring the pain as he quickly wiped the tears away. "S-sorry," he whispered into his palms. "The drugs... and... and the hospital. The concussion too... it's all just makin me-"

"Do you want me to lay down with you, Shiro?" Matt asked, cutting him off. His voice was soft and blank. When Shiro peeked at him from in between his fingers, Matt's face had been sad but any emotion was far from pity.

Shiro nodded, not saying another word.

By the time Keith had gotten back to the room, Shiro was asleep again, having cried himself out on Matt's chest. He hugged Matt close with one arm, and then hugged stuffed lion with the other. Matt was trapped in the embrace when a confused Keith wandered back into the room -- only his one arm was free. He held it out, and wiggled his fingers a bit, too tired to bring up the usual scowl he'd wear whenever Keith was present.

"Coffee. Please," he muttered to Keith. "I really need it."

Keith didn't hesitate or object, already able to gather most of the details of what happened from Shiro's fetal position and the worry that had ingrained itself onto Matt's face. He offered Matt his coffee and let him take it, sending Lance a quick goodbye text before settling down at Shiro's side, one hand resting atop of Shiro's.

He set the other two coffee's down, taking his own drink.  
"What happened while I was gone?" he asked, though he was almost entirely sure that he wouldn't like the answer. Shiro had clearly had some form of a breakdown- that much was obvious- and asking Matt about it probably meant that most of the important details would be skipped over. Not just the ones that Keith was sure would be about the vigilantism.

Nonetheless, bringing the coffee cup to his lips, he focused his attention on the tired Matt and waited for him to continue into telling him all about it, hoping that the exhaustion would stop him from filtering through the story as well as he normally would. Provided that Matt wasn't just planning on telling him it 'wasn't his business' as he did sometimes, when he felt especially closed-off or harnessed a little more hatred for Keith than usual.

Matt gave a sigh, already taking his coffee to his lips and tipping it back, taking a few long sips before he even thought about trying to answer. "Not much. Shiro's still kind of out of it," Matt muttered, licking his lips of the spare coffee that had lingered there. When he flicked his gaze back up to Keith, he noticed the very skeptical look of his features, and figured he should have answered again. "He... had a sort of meltdown. Something about his parents. Luckily something snapped him out of it, but he fell back to sleep crying. Don't tell him I told you... he'll be embarrassed enough about it as it is."

Keith watched him for a few moments but nodded, his eyes fixing on Shiro for a moment. His eyes were still red and puffy from having been sobbing so much and his breathing was still a little shaky. He didn't say anything, not sure where he would start if he could and just worriedly keeping his eyes on Shiro as he slept, like the watchful eyes over him would prevent nightmares or something similar. Just hoping that he would feel okay soon.

"What are we going to do about it? Obviously this isn't the kind of environment he should be in if we want to keep him stable."

Matt gave a slow shrug, looking down at Shiro beside him. "The doctor hasn't told me when they plan on discharging him," he said, furrowing his brow a little. "There's still tests they need to run. Vitals they need to watch. Apparently they're always super thorough with the more famous people in the city -- keeps their ratings up or something. I'm sure if we pay them off enough they'll let Shiro go home, though. I'll ask them tomorrow."

"In the meantime, the best we can do for him is just be here," Matt continued, reaching his hand up to Shiro's head and pushing the bangs back from his eyes. "I'll try to be with him twenty-four-seven. I wouldn't want him waking up from something alone or... just being here alone. Even I get the creeps from hospitals, and I'm not even the one with the trauma."

Keith watched him a few moments but sighed a little. He couldn't argue, no matter how badly he wanted to get Shiro out of there as soon as he could. He just gave Shiro's hand a careful squeeze, studying his face, concerned about him. Shiro was hardly himself when he was here, that was enough to freak Keith out.

Even if he did like hospitals, for some reason he couldn't place, he didn't like to think of leaving Shiro here for any longer.

"Let's just get him out as soon as we can," he muttered. "We can't risk letting him stay and ruin his mental health more."

Matt didn't respond aside from a tired nod, figuring it was useless to try and explain everything to him again. After a while though, he turned his attention back to Keith, first catching how Keith held his hand, and then following up his body to see how Keith looked at Shiro's sleeping face. There was a pang of something in his chest — something that was like guilt. Matt gave a soft sigh and leaned up as much as he could with Shiro's dead weight on top of him like that.

"Hey, Keith. Shiro's going to be okay, alright?" he said in a gentle, assuring sort of tone. "He's been through worse. He's gotten through worse. Shiro's gonna be back to normal in a few days — trying to get out of bed and into work like nothing happened. He's tough and stubborn like that. It's just these drugs he's on are making him a little... unstable, I guess."

 

"He's been through worse so we should just ignore that this is bad?" Keith asked, his worried eyes not lifting from Shiro's face. "This... he can't handle being in hospitals, man. You add that to him having to fight off the press and freaking out about so much he won't tell me about and he told me yesterday that he's in-" Keith hesitated and faltered, deciding not to share that- "In a stressful situation at work. He can heal at home. He should heal at home. He shouldn't be here."

He held a little tighter to Shiro's hand, his own hands starting to shake. He didn't look at Matt, sure that he would roll his eyes or tell Keith to stop being so childish and to 'see the bigger picture' as he did frequently. Keith was just worried about Shiro. He hadn't seen him in such a condition in years.

Matt gave a gentle sigh, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes even if Keith hadn't looked up at him. "I know, Keith. But we can't just up and leave — that's not how hospitals work," he said, voice just barely tipping over the scale of being tight. Matt took a second to calm down, however, and when he spoke again his voice was back to normal.

"Lotor will be here later. I'm sure he can convince the doc to let Shiro out," he said, shrugging one of his shoulders, the other one still snug beneath the sleeping Shiro. "You know he's good at, uh, persuading people. Lord knows he's got the cash if the hospital gets stubborn."

"Lotor?" Keith asked, brows furrowing, his top lip curling a little in disgust. "Seriously? What's he going to do this time? Come in, throw some money around that would barely be a fraction of a percentage of his wealth and bat his blind eyes until someone pities him enough and to accept his bribes?"

He watched Matt, finally looking up at him and not missing the way that he rolled his eyes this time.  
"Look, I like the guy and everything, but he's blatantly manipulative about the one thing that he can't hide from people, his blindness, and then refuses to tell anyone about anything else that has ever happened in his life. I spend so much time trying not to get pity and he grabs it in every single opportunity that it might be even remotely useful? It's like using a get out of jail free card. He hates to address his blindness unless it can get him out of trouble and then he flaunts it."

Matt scowled, narrowing his eyes a little. "So first you act like getting Shiro out of the hospital is the number one priority, but when I tell you our best shot at doing it you start complaining about one of Shiro's closest friends?" he muttered, looking Keith up and down. "Lotor does what he has to do. It doesn't matter whether or not he uses his blindness to his advantage because it's none of our business. It doesn't matter that he doesn't like to talk about what happened to him because it's none of our business. He's making the best out of a sucky situation, and you don't have the right to talk about him like that. Especially if he's going out of his way to help Shiro out."

He looked away from Keith, huffing out an angry sort of breath. "Not everything is about you, Keith. It isn't like everyone deals with shit the same way you do." His voice was still bitter, but it was cooling down some as he spoke. "Don't say any of that around Shiro. He's really close with Lotor.

"He's not just Shiro's friend!" Keith snapped. "But at least I can tell when someone is manipulative and cunning! I know the difference between being a victim and playing a victim, okay? Just drop it. I'm going to punch you if you keep talking." He pulled his hand back from Shiro, pushing himself to his feet, hands curling into fists as he turned, snatching his empty cup of coffee and throwing it into the bin.  
"I'm going to sit outside for a bit. How long until Lotor will get here?"

"Boy, your temper is just the icing to this whole Goddamn situation, you know that Keith?" Matt hissed, trying hard to keep his voice from raising to the level that Keith's had. Shiro had already stirred a bit from Keith's harsh snap -- Matt had watched as his eyes clenched a little tighter in his sleep. "Lotor will be here in a few hours. Please just sit out your temper tantrum until he gets here. And maybe try not to wake Shiro up while you're at it?"

Keith couldn't deny the discomfort that made his shoulders tense when Matt said 'boy', mistaking it as a nickname similar to Sendak for just a moment before realising that it was just a sarcastic murmur to start an indictment. He looked at Matt for a few moments.

"Yeah, I'm the one making this situation so much worse. You're not the only one with a fucking life, Matt, though if I didn't know any better I'd say you didn't have a life at all. I've got more shit going on than you could imagine so let's leave it at that. Eat a dick."

And with that mature little snap, Keith turned and left, only barely refraining from slamming the door as he did, storming out to go get some fresh air and probably smoke something illegal. He'd decide when he got there.


	17. Recovery

If there was one thing that was worse than getting hurt, Shiro could say with all his confidence that it was the healing process afterwards.

Lotor's meddling with the doctors had worked perfectly, and the next time Shiro woke up he was being told that he could go home. Home to his own bed and his cats and his computer. Home, away from heart monitors and the smell of medicine and the overall feeling of discomfort in the linoleum prison they called a hospital. Even if Shiro had never really enjoyed sleeping in his own bed before, he couldn't deny the sublime sense of comfort he felt after he had finally laid down on his familiar mattress with his familiar sheets. Atlas and Black were kept out of his room while he slept due to Matt's paranoid orders, but to pet and cuddle and sit with them whenever he could was equally as calming. Shiro didn't quite know how Matt and Lotor had done it -- whenever he asked they'd both simply shrug -- but he was incredibly grateful. Even if Lotor had been a bit sharper to him when he visited for being so stupid.

The first few days -- maybe a whole week at most -- were all mostly filled with sleeping off the effects of his pain medicine. Shiro would drift off while talking to Matt at his bedside, and then he'd wake up to find Keith there instead. Then the same situation would happen but vice versa. Sometimes Lotor would be there, but not often enough to make Shiro feel bad for disrupting his busy schedule. Sometimes Curtis would be there, too. The conversation however was never that engaging. At least not as nice as it was to talk with Matt or Keith -- all Curtis wanted to do was ask Shiro if he was okay or tell Shiro he was sorry it ever happened and look at him with a damn near rage inducing pity whenever he'd give Shiro more flowers.

Shiro always had Matt take the flowers downstairs.

After the period of rest passed, Shiro grew to realize how much he hated recovery.

He was quick to become restless. Quick to realize he was falling out of shape with all of his laying around. Walking was hard with the awkward boot on his ankle and Matt always hounding him down to relax, but Shiro would get up anyways -- using his crutches to walk to the master bathroom and then back. On days where he would be particularly bored, he would sneak open his laptop and start catching up on his work whenever Matt wasn't around, snapping it closed and stuffing it beneath his pillow whenever someone would come into his room to talk or check up on him. There was even a day where Shiro had started tinkering on a new mask, using the skeleton of a prototype Matt had made him to start designing a stronger, more efficient product. Matt had caught him with that, of course, but it was worth it.

The news was always on -- displayed on the large screen of the TV in Shiro's room. Most of the time the audio was on mute so Shiro could sleep, but Shiro always had the subtitles running across the bottom of the screen. After a few weeks Shiro was no longer the topic of interest for the press, but he still checked up on it anyways. Red wasn't too busy during his time of healing -- there was a fire here and there, but they were never anything Shiro could ever think of stopping in his condition, so he tried not to dwell on it all.

A month or so had passed and the only things Shiro had to show for his injuries were the boot around his ankle and the occasional headache or dizzy spell. Shiro had even gone into the office a few times, his well rehearsed story in mind with each meeting or press conference. He was down town doing charity work again, having not learned his lesson from last time, and caught someone getting mugged in an alleyway. When he went to help he was overpowered by a few men he didn't see before. It was an easy story -- convincing, to say the least. Everyone knew Shiro was a bit mindless when it came to helping others due to his display the night of his speech, so it wasn't too much of a stretch. The only person Shiro was really concerned about was Keith but... it seemed like Keith believed him enough.

Which was relieving considering Shiro still didn't remember what he had told Keith while he was high... and Keith still wouldn't tell him everything either.

Almost two months after that night with Sendak, Shiro's schedule was mostly back to normal aside from the lack of vigilante work. Matt had promised they could try to get back into the swing of things in a few more weeks when Shiro's ankle would be healed, even though Shiro could get around without crutches and could probably fit the cast in his armor. They were back to the nightly anime marathons on the couch, Shiro hunched over his laptop, Matt dangling a piece of pizza over his mouth as he watched the final boss battle of whatever show he had been binging.

It was one of those nights, actually, but Keith was there too. Shiro had gotten Matt and Keith McDonalds, and he had gotten himself a lettuce wrap from the deli. They were on the couch -- Matt in his normal spot, Keith in his own, and Shiro in the middle, typing away on a report over another new project of his. It was a proposal to fund research on nerve and cell regeneration for burn victims. Shiro had even been willing to use himself as a test subject if the research would be allowed to go that far... which he supposed meant the Red Flame was good for something after all.

"Thank God. Is it finally over?" Shiro asked when the episode Matt had been watching ended. "That's the last of the show, right? I'm so tired of all that yelling while I'm trying to work."

Matt snickered, groping for the remote. "There's one more season," he hummed, laughing a little more when Shiro groaned. "But since you're so busy, I'll shut it off. Yo, Keith-" Matt's voice dropped a little flatter -- ever since the hospital Matt's voice always did get a little stale talking to Keith... Shiro just wondered why. "What do you wanna watch? Your pick."

"Does it matter what I say? You'll just end up rolling your eyes and putting on another anime," Keith muttered under his breath, before reaching over and snatching up the remote to begin flicking through show after show. He eventually settled on some sitcom, not wanting to watch anything that would need much attention and focus but wanting something that would amuse him at least a little. He left the remote on the table and, as expected, heard Matt groan at the show he'd chosen, deciding that it was better not to comment on it and instead just letting Matt bitch about everything that happened when he didn't get his way.

He took another bite into his burger, wiping his lips on his sleeve and slumping back on the sofa. Lance hadn't been talking to him since the event with Sendak and Zarkon had tried multiple times to organise a meeting but keith had insisted every time that he was still wounded and needed more time to heal. Today he had been told that a meeting was compulsory and to turn up 'as soon as he was available'. He'd go when Matt decided that he wasn't wanted around any more and no sooner. It wasn't like he had much reason to stay aside from sticking with Shiro.

Shiro, who had confessed that night in the hospital, high off of meds, that he was in love with him. Shiro, who always had such a loving look in his eyes and now Keith knew definitely that he wasn't just imagining it every time. Shiro, who always took time out of his day and money out of his wallet to make sure Keith was okay and fed.

Shiro, who couldn't afford to love Keith; Shiro, who Keith couldn't afford to love.

But that was the least of his concerns today. He still had to meet Zarkon to discuss the unfortunate circumstances that befell Sendak and somehow bullshit his way out of being killed for killing Sendak. He still had to get assigned a new job and a new deadline and receive his docked pay for the fires he'd set while Shiro had been healing.

He didn't even have the energy to properly fight with Matt while all of this was weighing so heavily on his mind.

Blowin a long breath of air through his lips, Shiro shook his head, flicking his eyes between Matt and Keith. "God, you guys are at each other's throats," he muttered. It was something he was bringing up quite often, actually -- trying to pry some of the secrets of those few days at the hospital loose from Matt and Keith's locked lips. "Don't tell me you guys are fighting for my affection -- if you're trying to do that, just go ahead and have a good old fashioned duel."

Matt gave a snicker, but he shot Keith a hard side eye before dragging his gaze back up to Shiro. "I would gladly duel for your affection," he said with a dramatic sort of flare in his tone. "But alas, Curtis already has thou's hand -- 'tis but useless."

Shiro snorted. "You're ridiculous, Shakespeare."

He actually had a date with Curtis on Friday. It was his third one that week -- almost like Curtis was building up to something. Shiro didn't really know if he wanted to find out what it was... but he was sure it had something to do with sex. Curtis had been hinting at it through the months of their... relationship. They had even gotten close every now and again after an expensive dinner with one two many glasses of wine -- but, like with Adam, Shiro asked Curtis to stop whenever he would start marking up Shiro's neck or let his hands drift too low for his comfort. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Curtis, of course... but...

He just knew it would be nothing compared to his night with Keith, and Shiro was just too afraid to face that.

"Hey, I know you have somewhere to be or something, but do you wanna come by afterwards?" Shiro asked Keith, just trying to clear his head a little. He was sure Keith would say no, but he made a point to ask anyways -- hoping that hearing his voice would help a bit. "Matt might have to leave to go help his dad with something. I wouldn't mind the company -- even if I've been stuck with you two nonstop for months now."

Keith pushed himself to sit up a little, turning his gaze to fix on Shiro.  
"If I have time, sure," he said with a little shrug, not seeing any issues with that provided that he made it back alive- which was still quite unlikely if his excuse was proven false. 'You see, Mister Zarkon, sir, Sendak done set himself on fire! I swears it!'

Yeah, maybe he'd need to work on his excuse a little bit but he had a few hours to do that. He'd figure something out eventually.

He kept his eyes on Shiro, trying not to pry into personal projects as he looked at the screen in front of him.  
"Why? Can you just not get enough of me, Kash? Or have you got company and you want me to cockblock again? You know how I do it- I just sit there and be on my best behaviour and everyone lucky enough to witness it is instantly repulsed. Honestly, if anyone asks you on a date you don't want to be on, invite me to ruin the tension-" his thoughts flickered back to that first attempt at a date with Curtis almost a year ago by now. "Oh, wait, you've already done that. And I think you did it with Adam a few times. And if there's someone after Curtis, I'll probably be their cockblock, too. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty for you."

He moved to slump back into his chair, turning up the TV volume.  
"I should start getting paid for that."

Shiro tensed up, an embarrassed blush lighting across his features. He leaned up from his laptop, turning to Keith -- his brow furrowing a bit. "I don't... I don't understand what you're trying to say. Why would you say something like that?" Shiro asked quietly, tone just a little hurt underneath the confusion, on the very edge of being defensive. He looked down quickly, going back through his words to try and see if it had been something he said himself that prompted such an odd response. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to hang out a little longer. But if you don't want to that's fine, I guess..."

"No, it's not fine," Matt butted in, leaning up a little. His eyes were trained on Keith -- it was like he was simply just waiting for the opportunity to strike him. "What the hell man? That was fucked up."

Shiro shook his head a little, sensing the rise in tension. "Matt, don't worry. It's nothing-"

"Him treating you like crap isn't nothing," Matt interrupted sharply, glare still trained on Keith. "You were being nice and he acted like a little dickhead, as per usual. It's getting a little tiring, Shiro. I can always tell when he hurts your feelings."

"Well I'm fine, Matt," Shiro said, trying the best he could to diffuse the situation. He flicked his gaze to Keith for just a second, noting how much darker he was beginning to appear. He slowly pushed his laptop to a close, and rose up his hands, scooting forwards on the couch as if he meant to get between them. "Really. It's fine -- it was just some stupid jokes, alright? It's nothing worth fighting over."

Keith, for once, did manage to keep himself silent and slumped back, not willing to fight with Matt again and instead looking back up to Shiro.  
"I can come back here after my meeting, yeah," he said, tone a little flatter now. "I've got time."

He pushed off of the sofa, taking his McDonalds bag with him and starting to go to the kitchen, murmuring something about getting another drink and pushing the door shut behind him. Sometimes he just couldn't keep his mouth shut, apparently. HE didn't think that his comment was going to be so strikingly controversial. Oddly enough, he'd had bigger things on his mind than whether or not Matt would get pissed off or if it would upset Shiro.

And just as the guilt began to twist it's way into his stomach, he took a cigarette from the pack hidden in his pocket and snuck to the bathroom, closing and locking the door so Shiro wouldn't catch onto the smell. All the cleaning products were tucked away in here too, so he could spray the room in air freshener when he was done and leave no hints that he'd been smoking. Thank god, too. Shiro would flip on him for smoking, not just because of how badly it could fuck up his lungs but because Shiro would hate for Keith to smoke in his apartment of all places.

Nonetheless, Keith pushed open the apartment window and settled on the windowsill, choosing to ignore how precariously balanced he was as he flicked on the lighter he'd snagged from Matt and lit his cigarette.

He slumped against the window frame, letting out a breathless little sigh of relief, his eyes fixing on the fields that he could see from the apartment suit window, the little flecks of paint on the canvas of his sight that made up every individual flower settled out in clumps and rows on the undisturbed field. He stayed settled there, his eyes fixed on the nicest little patch of the field he could find- a small open spot where a lake took residence- and he brought the lit cigarette to his lips to take a long, slow drag. The smoke filled his lungs and he held it until it burned, pulling the cigarette away to let a little stream of smoke billow past his lips, most of it dissipating outside but the other bit lingering in the bathroom. He didn't notice it, not lifting his gaze from the little spot of peace that he'd discovered for himself, but it was going to give him away when he opened the bathroom door if he wasn't careful.

Regardless, though, Keith closed his eyes and let one leg hang over the edge of the windowsill, his eyes closed as he took a few more drags, just wanting to feel better and get rid of this sickly nausea-inducing guilt in his chest. It went away every time he inhaled and the smoke numbed over it but when he let out his breath and let the grey clouds fade, he was left feeling just as miserable and frustrated as he had been before.

He stayed there for fifteen minutes, smoking two cigarettes and flicking each extinguished one out of the window when he was done, leaving them wherever they landed, far enough away from Shiro's apartment not to give him away. He doused the room in air freshener, then himself in deodorant, and popped a piece of gum in his mouth for good measure as he left. The amount of chemicals coming from the bathroom would definitely be suspicious but it wasn't like Keith had cigarette ash on his shirt.

Well, not much.

Hopefully Shiro wouldn't pick up on it, anyway. That was all that he really cared about- avoiding another bullshit scolding for something Shiro had no control over or say in.

So he came back through to the living room, first noticing Matt's grimace (which was either in response to the amount of deodorant or just to Keith arriving again) and then turning his attention to Shiro, awaiting either being welcomed back or chastised.

The scent of Shiro's deodorant was almost nauseatingly obvious, but Shiro pretended he didn't notice, simply giving Keith a nod and a fake smile before turning back to his laptop, trying hard to keep from wondering just what Keith had been doing for the near twenty minutes he had been gone. He was already too on edge from the close controversy from before. Shiro could afford to ignore whatever it was Keith was up to try and keep things calmer. He didn't like Keith's secrecy but he didn't like when his two friends fought with each other more.

Matt didn't seem to get the hint though.

"Why do you smell like you just walked out of a fragrance department store?" he asked suspiciously, looking Keith up and down as he leaned up off of couch a bit.

Shiro quickly leapt in the answer for him. "He's probably just getting ready for whatever meeting he has to go to," he said, shrugging his shoulders a little as he continued to type on his computer.

"By drowning himself in cologne and deodorant?" Matt's voice was as flat as ever, his stare trained on Keith. "I know the trick better than anyone. You were smoking, weren't you?"

There was a stutter in the sound of Shiro's keyboard, but Shiro recovered from his tense freezing up fast, shaking his head a little as he ducked closer to his laptop. "Keith wouldn't do that. He knows the rules," Shiro sighed. Matt spluttered, starting to argue, but Shiro cut him off— voice a little louder than before. "Listen, I get that something happened between you two and for some reason you hate each other now, but I'm tired of it, alright? I've been stuck with you two time bombs for months and you're starting to piss me off now. Cut it out."

Keith gave Shiro a small thankful smile, waiting for him to focus fully back on his laptop before 'slyly' brandishing his middle finger at Matt. He checked his phone, his heart lurching in his chest when he saw that he was needed for the meeting now- and that if he didn't go willingly... well, Zarkon hadn't specified but he made it clear that they knew his address. Which was just fucking typical.

"Shit, I gotta go," he said, grabbing his bag. "I didn't realise what time it was. I'll text when I get out of my meeting, Kash, okay? I don't think it'll go on for too long but I really can't risk being late for it."

He hadn't even been able to begin rubbing it into Matt's face that Shiro trusted him over everything. He moved to where Shiro was sat and gave him an awkward hug from behind with one arm while his other fumbled to tuck his phone back into his pocket.

He threw another goodbye over his shoulder as he left, wanting to stay a little longer or to get a snack for the way but he couldn't afford to upset Zarkon any more than he already had both with Sendak's death and his constant rescheduling for their meeting.

Matt waited until Shiro's door slammed shut behind the hurried Keith before training his glare onto Shiro, who still typed out his reports and his papers as if he couldn't feel the burning stare boring into him from his peripheral. Matt also waited even longer until he even dared to say anything, simply settling for the disappointed shake of his head until he couldn't bare Shiro's oblivious silence any longer. He leaned forwards, tapping on the top of Shiro's laptop monitor to grab his attention.

"What the hell was that?" Matt asked. His tone didn't carry the same loathing tightness it would whenever he spoke to Keith in such a way of course, but there was still some sourness to it. Maybe a hint of betrayal or a touch of an offended snarl.

Shiro looked up at him, figuring it was best to play dumb. "What was what?"

"What do you mean 'what was what'?" Matt cried, cocking his head at his seemingly clueless friend. "I was sticking up for you and you took Keith's side! You always take Keith's side!"

There was a slight twist of guilt in Shiro's chest, pinching his nerves, but he ignored it with a roll of his eyes. "I don't pick sides, Matt," he scoffed, looking back down to his computer. "You were just... being a little... rash, I guess."

"A little rash?" Matt echoed, almost dumbfoundedly. When Shiro nodded his head, Matt hung his own, letting a long, aggravated sigh push past his gritted teeth. "Shiro, he insulted you to your face and you just shrugged it off. Hell -- you're the one who said sorry. Why do you let him treat you like that?"

Shiro drew up his shoulders a little, biting the inside of his cheek. He struggled to find an answer for that -- anything but a vague shrug and a slight shake of his head -- so he simply stayed quiet, leaning closer to his computer as though he needed to focus on his work. Truth was he was nearly done with everything. He would need to proofread and send out some emails of course, but other than that Shiro didn't have much else to do. Matt didn't know that though... and whatever got him out of that conversation would have to do.

Matt, once again, completely missed the hint.

"It's like you worship the ground he walks on, man," Matt muttered, voice nothing but a grumble as he leaned back. At least it had been a little more defeated than before -- lacking its previous conviction. "He's your perfect little angel. Can't do anything wrong in your eyes. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were in love with him or something."

Shiro visibly flinched, hands clenching over his keyboard. He made a mistake: he looked up at Matt fast, eyes a little wider than they should have been. Before he could duck his head back down or cover up his embarrassed, almost nervous expression, he could already see the damage was done. Matt's face drained of color, and he leaned up straight, staring at Shiro hard even when he had averted his own eyes back down to his laptop.

"Why did you look at me like that?" Matt asked, very quiet.

Shiro didn't miss a beat. "No reason."

His voice was too calm -- too collected for his outward appearance of fidgety sheepishness.

"Shiro, holy fuck don't you dare tell me you're in love with Keith." Matt was shaking his head, lifting a hand to grasp Shiro's arm. "You can't be in love with him. You have Curtis. He's an asshole and he'll break your heart. You can't be in love with him. Don't tell me you're in love with him."

Shiro could feel the dismal aftermath of his mistake wash through his system, the initial shock of the situation fading into a tired sort of disappointment in himself. He let his shoulders sink downwards -- his head too. His eyes settled into a close, and he let out a low breath of air.

"Then I won't tell you," he managed, offering a twitch of a pathetic smile in spite of himself.

Matt gave a groan, nearly reeling backwards, both hands reaching up to his face. "Shiro," he drawled out from behind his palms. Shiro couldn't tell if he was concerned or just let down... he wondered if it was a mix of both. "God, I knew it. I knew there was something with you and him but I just didn't think... ugh... Shiro you're a disas-"

"I know, okay? I know it sucks," Shiro snapped, cutting him off. "I've come to terms with it, alright? I already know it'll never..." He trailed off, not liking the sting that shot through his system at the word 'never'. Shiro took a moment, and then re-worded his response. "I already know that it's pointless. I'm still just a little... hung up over it."

He tried not to think about how the term 'hung up' had been a rather substantial understatement. How after months he still felt his body flush with warmth whenever Keith could get near. Whenever Keith would touch him or even on the sublime occasion lay down with him. How much it made him unconsciously smile whenever Keith would laugh or joke along with him -- how bright it made him feel. How much the fleeting dream of Keith would taunt him whenever he would wake up from it, causing his eyes to drift and cling to the space above the hem of Keith's pants whenever he'd raise up his arms to reach for something.

In all the time that had passed from his meeting with Lotor -- when Lotor told him it was okay to be selfish -- Shiro never took up the initiative to tell Keith how he really felt, and he couldn't stand himself for it. Especially after almost dying. Especially whenever Curtis would kiss him and all Shiro could think about was Lotor asking him if he was satisfied.

"Well, you should get over that quick," Matt said, a trace of pity in his tone in what had to be the first time in years. "If not for your own heart, for Curtis's. You owe it to him to either give him more than a one sided relationship, or just break it off all together."

Shiro nodded. "I know," he muttered. "I know. I'll get over it soon... I promise."

Liar.

~~~

"I still don't think you fully understand the circumstances of your situation, boy."

Zarkon began to stand from his seat, pushing up against his desk with his hands. They were each drumming against the wood, fast and fierce as they tapped their sharp fingernails along the oaken finish of the desk surface. A rather terrifying fill to the silence -- intimidating. There was an anger resting in his eyes that made the atmosphere cooler than it should have been. It was an anger Keith didn't get to see often. It was the same resentful glint he wore whenever he spoke of his wife or, God forbid, his wayward son. Disappointment. Loss of great potential. He'd been wearing such a look all the months that followed one of his best assassin's death, and it had only been fueled by the presence of Keith -- the only man that really knew what happened besides that pesky Black Paladin.

"Enough attitude. Enough waiting. Tell me what happened that night -- every exact detail." Zarkon leaned forwards, voice grating and gravely as he spoke. "Tell me why you left your post that night. Tell me why I never received the Black Paladin's corpse, but instead the body of one of my most trusted soldiers. Tell me why and how Sendak died, and then tell me why you've been stalling this meeting for months. You have five minutes. Go."

Keith watched him, his tension wound up in his shoulders and in his grit teeth. He looked up at Zarkon, trying to seen as unperturbed as possible when that drumming of his fingernails was beginning to piss him off and the low snarling voice Zarkon addressed him with sent an icy wave of fear through his veins.

"I left my post because the Black Paladin had a new weapon that we hadn't expect to see," he lied with a flawless and natural calmness, used to lying to just about everybody that he spoke to, including the police on one or two incidents. Or ten or twenty- he'd lost track. "And when Sendak went to attack, he was caught off guard. Demanded that I went to help him- so I was obligated to leave my post because he, my superior, demanded it. I was going to kill the Black Paladin when I saw the sword that he had. It was really unnecessary to have a sword. Incredibly impractical, yeah, but also just braggy. Pretty sure that whoever it is, he's rich as hell."

He caught the way Zarkon was looking at him and decided to steady his tracks. Maybe having a few drinks before he got here (just a couple of shots to soothe his nerves, nothing huge) wasn't the best idea for him.

"The point is that he almost got me with the sword and when he missed with the blade, he charged at me and drove the hilt into my stomach. I didn't process what was going on until he had my flamethrower and set Sendak on fire, sliding the sword through his head to end his suffering instead of letting him die like that." He straightened up, meeting Zarkon's gaze again.

"Is that everything, sir?" he made sure to add that, well aware that it would have been dangerous to disrespect his authority now. "I've answered your questions."

Zarkon glared at him, running the story through his head. "And why haven't we seen or heard from our friend and his new weapon?" he asked, trying to draw as much truth as he could from Keith -- wringing him out of his secrets to try and spot any weaknesses. "He hasn't bothered us since the failed mission. You'd think that if he was strong enough to take out two of my... one of my best men and a sidekick, then maybe he would be strong enough to continue his mission to bring my empire down."

"We fucked him up pretty bad. He's probably been healing. After Sendak died he threw the canister out of my gun and threw it at my feet. I hit him with it a few times, knocked him down. Got him in the ribs, gave him a black eye, kicked him in the dick a few times before I ran. I wasn't going to take on someone I wouldn't win against when I was pretty badly beaten up and Sendak was dead."

Keith took just a little step forwards, shrugging.  
"I would have stayed to fight but I got a broken arm and a fractured ankle so it wouldn't have gone well at all for me. I'm impulsive and reckless but not far enough to get into a fight that'll kill me when I've got more jobs to do. If I stick around to do a few more jobs and he keeps showing up, maybe someday I'll figure out who he really is."

And that was the exact moment that Keith realised he shouldn't have gotten drunk at all. Or at least that he should have kept his mouth shut. The nasty grin that curled onto Zarkon's lips, the malicious little glint in his eyes, it all lead to something sinister that Keith couldn't even anticipate. But everything just seemed to click so perfectly into place for the man sitting behind his desk.

"I'll make things a little easier for you," Zarkon drawled, the drumming of his fingernails finally ceasing. He leaned back a little, scraping his nails across his desk with a sharp little whisper of sound that made Keith flinch as he trailed his hand to a drawer by his leg. "Since you seem so eager, and because I am not a man who is opposed to the idea of revenge, I might as well give you a new assignment. Think of it as... a promotion of sorts."

He opened up the drawer and flicked through some folders before seizing one and pulling it free of its desked prison. It was a deep, blood red color, and the front was stamped with the word confidential in rich black ink. He set it down on the desk, and poked a finger into it, offering Keith a dangerous sort of smirk.

"This was going to be Sendak's assignment," he said, tone only dipping a bit flatter at the lateb Sendak's name. "He is no longer of service, and I haven't found another candidate I could trust with such a task. In this folder is everything we know about the Black Paladin, along with an updated suspect list of just who this hero could be. If you manage to figure out who he really is with everything in this folder, I will triple your final payment. I will also allow you to accompany me in torturing and killing whoever this man may be -- as a nice bonus, I suppose. I intend on killing him myself after all of his... infuriating displays."

Zarkon slid the folder to the edge of the desk. "This is an non-negotiable offer," he hummed, narrowing his eyes. "Not that I think you'd object to such payment. The faster you find out who the Black Paladin is, the more I might pay you. This is a way to redeem yourself, boy. Do not let me down."

Keith watched him, reaching out and taking the folder. He slung his bag off of his shoulder and stuffed it away inside, nodding.  
"Extra pay? Fine with me. Fucker was meant to die ages ago anyway," Keith said with a shrug, a little smile on his lips despite how accepting this job and saying those words made his stomach churn with an agonising amount of guilt. That was becoming more common now, irritatingly. He had to kill Shiro or get Shiro killed. He really regretted getting attached now.

This kind of love was fatal.

"Is that everything? I'm a busy basket case, alcohol to drink and weed to smoke, things like that." He gave a little smile just to prove that he was joking, hoping to ease a little more of the tension between him and Zarkon. Hoping that he could prove that he wasn't a threat. He'd seen, once or twice, the way Zarkon and Sendak had spoken when they were off hours and while their relationship was far from friendly, they were on better terms than just inferior and superior. He wanted to be in a good spot where not every mistake would be fatal or mean that he could lose half his already low pay.

Zarkon, obviously glad he had gotten the assignment off of his hands, offered a dark grin in response to Keith's jokes. "Very well," he said, lifting a hand to wave him away. "That is all I need from you. I will expect you back here in two weeks for another report. I wish you luck on your assignment. And with the... alcohol."

He eased back down in his desk chair as he watched Keith turn and go, ignoring the confused looks the guards exchanged as they opened the door for him to leave.

"And you, with the murder and such," Keith called over his shoulder as he left, waiting until he was far down the corridor before yet another little trinket would be pocketed. It was a routine by then- have a visit, a chat, and then steal something on his way out. That was where he got a little extra money from. Each thing usually got him a couple hundred bucks, put online by Lance under some ridiculous amount of security protocols so even if Zarkon realised and someone found the items online, they wouldn't be able to trace it. Logically they could tie it to Keith but there would be no evidence so it was a harmless crime.

 

And he pushed his way out of the building, got onto his bike, and drove to the nearest liquor store with no plans for his evening.

~~~

"You really didn't have to ditch your dad for me," Shiro said, watching Matt work from his seat at the breakfast bar, his head in his hands. "I'm sure Sam could have used your help with... whatever it is he wanted."

Matt shrugged, leaning away from the stove to take a glance at the box of cookies he had been baking to double check how many eggs he needed. They had run out of McDonalds, and Matt was still hungry -- he managed to happen upon a box of cookies after rifling through Shiro's pantry of easy-to-make dinners and protein shake mixes. Shiro told him he could have just one out and bought store-made cookies, but Matt had already been pulling out the trays and the measuring cups, leaving Shiro to sit idly and watch while Matt got to baking. There was no denying he was oddly jealous of the skill -- even if Matt had simply been going off the directions of the box. Shiro was sure he'd burn something. Or knock something over. Or do something to ruin his kitchen.

It was... a curse, to say the least.

"Katie said she'd help him out with the car," Matt said, cracking two eggs over the mixing bowl and then tossing their shells aside. "He could probably do it on his own, to be honest. Fix up the car, I mean. But he said his back hurt or something. Old people stuff."

Shiro snorted. "Well, next time he needs help with his car, tell him to come ask me. I wouldn't mind spending some quality time with him -- it's been a while. And I know more than a thing or two about mechanics." He leaned up, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his back a bit.

"Speaking of," he grunted as he stretched his hands up high over his head, trying to ease the small of his back from the pains and aches of hunching over his laptop all day. "I finished tinkering with the mask and the suit. All I need is for you to go over and finalise everything. I used some of the newest tech from the company -- stuff you might not even know about. I'll catch you up on it... and then maybe I can take it out for a spin when it's all done?"

Matt turned around and looked at him, eyebrows high on his head. Shiro knew exactly what was coming, managing to roll his eyes even before Matt got the first few words out.

"Depends. When will you have your cast off?"

"God, Matt, it's been like two months," Shiro groaned, slumping back down from his stretches across the countertop. "I miss it. I miss being th Black Paladin. Sneaking around in the night. Saving people. Stopping bad guys-"

"-getting the shit kicked out of you by mutants and pyromaniacs? God, that really was the life."

Matt's voice feigned the wistfulness Shiro's own had carried. Shiro pouted at him, jutting out his lower lip and tilting his head up so he could peer oh-so-sweetly up at Matt with those grey-brown doe eyes. The ultimate puppy dog stare -- it worked every time. Shiro watched as Matt unwinded before him, first twitching with a sense of annoyance, and then slumping down in defeat.

"Fine," he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back around to the stove. Shiro grinned a giddy little smile once Matt couldn't see him anymore. "But if we do anything beside test out it's functions, it will have nothing to do with the Galra. Understand."

Shiro nodded. "Of course," he hummed, still smirking a bit too proudly for his own good. "Stopping drug deals and bank robberies isn't so bad. Helping out the little guys -- gotta love it."

Matt grumbled back something in response but Shiro couldn't hear it, so he slumped back down onto the countertop and slipped his phone out of his pocket. He idly answered some texts -- most of which from Curtis, none of which from Keith -- and then went scrolling through Twitter for awhile. When his timeline went dry, Shiro resorted to some phone games while Matt finished stirring his mix. He only looked up when Matt began carrying the freshly emptied mixing bowl to the corner of the room promptly asking to eat some of the leftovers. Of course Matt refused at first, wanting it all to himself, but he was rendered defenseless upon another attack from Shiro's puppy-stare, and the two ended up sat next to each other at the breakfast bar, scooping the mixing bowl clean with their spoons as the cookies baked in the oven.

They had just about finished the bowl when Shiro heard the front door open and close. The cookies were all done and set to cool on the living room table. . He leaned forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of the living room through the kitchen entrance, and instantly brightened at the sight of Keith awkwardly shrugging off his jacket. He tried to ignore how Matt sighed, or how Matt looked at him when Shiro pushed up from the counter and started towards the living room.

"Hey Keith. Glad you came back," he said, stopping and leaning on the doorway to the living room. Matt stepped up beside him and peeked over his shoulders, grumbling to himself again. Shiro ignored him. "Matt made cookies. We're just kinda hanging out. How did your, uh, meeting go?"

No response came.

From the living room came the sound of Keith throwing his bag to the floor and then some drawled out, slurred gushing over Atlas as she came to inspect him- before promptly running off. Black didn't even move from her place on the sofa.

It took a little while for Keith to get through to the living room, stumbling, drunk. In his left hand he clutched a bottle. He waved with his right hand, as if that would stop Shiro from being able to see the almost empty bottle. He had red under his eyes and his hair was still windswept, flecked about. The smile that he brandished to Shiro was jittery, hesitant, but hopeful. His eyes shined with something unplaceable.

"My meeting?" he drawled out, each letter clumsier than the last. "It was... fuck, man, it went good. Did a lot of good stuff that I shouldn't- should not have done- haha..." he coughed a little, wiping his mouth before he brought the bottle to his lips and drained a little more of it. He brought it away from his lips and whined when he felt Matt take it from his loose grip, reaching out after it and almost lashing out, grabbing Matt to get it back, but his attention was stolen away before he could by Atlas' ringing bell.

 

He stopped, losing all interest in Matt in a heartbeat as he dropped to his knees to sweep up the blind kitty, petting the top of her head and scratching behind her ears, hearing her beginning to purr and letting a little grin curl onto his lips.  
"How was your... boring non-meeting stuff? Must have been nice... Not with... without me," he mumbled, pressing a clumsy little kiss to the top of Atlas' head before she leapt out of his arms. "I missed you... I mean- not like, missed you missed you, but it didn't feel good to not be with you. And I kept thinking about how annoyed you would be if you knew I drove here and... and drunk and stuff. I didn't mean to. I mean, I did, I didn't want to be sober but I didn't have any weed and... I dunno..."

He wiped at his eyes a little, fumbling about for his bottle again, almost not registering that he still didnt have it. "I want a drink..."

Shiro was speechless for a moment or so, watching Keith's stumble around in his drunken stupor with a numb sense of shock until Matt elbowed him in the arm. He started a bit, and blinked, giving the bottle Matt had stolen a quick glance before offering out a long sigh. He moved forwards, shaking his head a little as he settled a hand on Keith's shoulder — trying to steady him.

"I'm not annoyed," he said quietly, looking Keith up and down. The reddened eyes. The messy hair. The pale face. "Just... concerned. You could have gotten hurt, Keith."

Shiro heard Matt set the bottle down somewhere in the kitchen, his bitter grumbling still audible from where Shiro and Keith stood. "C'mon," he sighed, nodding towards the couch. "Sit down. I'll get you some water or something so you can try and sober up... where the hell did you even get that? You know what- I don't wanna know." He guided Keith over to the sofa, keeping a gentle yet steady hand on Keith's arm as he settled him down in his place on the couch.

He leaned up straight, looking down at Keith's goofy smile. "Our non-meeting stuff was fine," Shiro said gently, reaching his hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Matt made cookies. You can have some if you don't feel sick. I, uh, missed you too." He offered a teasing smirk. "Not missed you missed you though. Whatever that means."

Keith, albeit reluctantly, slumped into place beside Shiro and wrapped his arms around Shiro's bicep, suddenly just holding tightly to him. One hand reached out to snatch up a cookie, curling up in his place beside Shiro and being oddly clingy as he munched away at the cookie.  
"Tastes good," he murmured through his mouthful, his head tipped onto Shiro's shoulder, his eyes fluttering closed. "My mom used to make cookies when she came back from active duty... I..." he suddenly let out a choked sob, curling up a little more, hugging tighter to Shiro. "I miss her... I miss my mom... I want those fucking cookies again, Shiro... she hasn't even cooked 'em in... in fucking years..." he slurred through his drawled out mouthful, letting out another choked out sob. Jesus, since when did alcohol make him such a baby?

Shiro watched him a good moment or so, his brow furrowing, his gaze flicking down to how tightly Keith had been holding onto him. He shifted a little closer, managing to lay his free hand on Keith's arm, running his touch up and down his bicep in a wordless form of comfort.

"I know, Keith," he said softly, nodding his head a little. "She'll be back soon, though. She'll come home and make you more cookies than you'll know what to do with."

It was a risky thing to say in such a promising tone, all things considered, but Shiro did anyways. He could tell Keith was far too intoxicated to even come close to remembering most of what he was doing or saying or hearing. From just the fact that Keith was already so open in front of him told Shiro he must have been drinking for a while. Empty promises and possible white lies wouldn't hurt. Even if they all did make his stomach turn a bit with guilt.

Matt made his way into the living room, already holding a large bottle of cool water in his hand and a bucket in his arm even though Shiro hadn't asked him to. He wordlessly handed Shiro the bottle, and then set the bucket at the edge of the couch, leaning back a bit and folding his arms over his chest. There were words in his eyes -- angry, bitter, sarcastic words -- but Matt kept silent, simply watching Keith with a hard, judging sort of look. Shiro tried to ignore it as he nudged him a little, offering Keith the water bottle when he lifted his head off of Shiro's chest.

"What happened, Keith? You don't usually drink like this," Shiro asked, watching as Keith took a shaky hold of the water bottle. "Is everything alright?"

A little bitter laugh escaped Keith as he tugged off the lid to the bottle, draining it for a few solid moments before pulling it back and murmuring something irritated about it being 'just water' as he set it back down.  
"Nothing's alright," he said, letting out a mix between a sob and a laugh as he wiped his eyes, starting to tremble in Shiro's arms. "Nothing's fucking alright. I suddenly just can't stop thinking about my dad. I had one panic attack and now all I can ever think about when I walk home or if I see orange or bright lights is my fucking dad. My dead dad who died because I set the kitchen on fire when I was a dumb kid. My dead dad who died on his birthday because I wanted to make him a breakfast to wake up to. My dead-" he hiccuped, tears rolling down his cheeks, "dead dad- who- who I killed! And- and my mom can't bear to come home without him there and she always reminds me that it wasn't my fault but it's in her eyes and I can tell that she thinks that I killed him and-" he paused to gasp for breath, having just been ranting desperately, breaking down into crying sobs and pressing up against Shiro.

Where had all of this come from? If Keith was sober, none of this would have been an issue. None of it would have mattered.

"And then I- I can't stop being a dick to everyone because I just want people to hate me. I know I- I should be hated so I want people to hate me but- but I'm always lonely now because of it and- and-" and he curled up, hiding his face in Shiro's chest, feeling the pitiful, sympathetic gazes that were fixed on him and hating it but having no energy to attack them or to snap or do anything to get them to stop. He was so tired. He'd been so tired for so long now.

Feeling Keith push into him some more, Shiro took it as an invitation to hug him even closer. He managed to wiggle his arm from Keith's grasp so Keith could clutch his chest instead, and settled it over Keith's shoulders, pulling him close. Shiro's other hand found the Keith's back, already rubbing small, delicate circles in the space between his shoulder blades. His concerned eyes flicked up to Matt, and the two of them exchanged nervous glances before Shiro looked back to Keith, breathing out a gentle sort of shushing sound as he ran his hand around Keith's heaving chest.

"Keith it's okay," he murmured. "I'm sure your mom doesn't want to be anywhere but home with you. She loves you. Lots of people love you and you deserve it, okay? You don't deserve to be hated."

He was at a loss for words, really -- Shiro didn't know what else to say. It wasn't just that Keith's sudden episode had been coming from seemingly nowhere, but Keith was also never one to admit such things in front of anyone. And if it was anyone, it was normally just Shiro. Shiro could feel Matt's awkward discomfort as he stood shifting his weight on his feet, watching the scene before him. Shiro frowned a little, and reached a hand up to tuck Keith's tangled hair behind his ear, trying to get a good look at his tear streaked, reddened features.

"Do you want to go lay down upstairs? I have guest rooms you can sleep in if you want, Keith." Shiro's voice was light and patient, his hand returning to its place on Keith's back. "Or you can even sleep in my room. Wherever you'd feel comfortable."

"Why?" Keith blurted, looking up at Shiro, his face the image of misery in his drunken haze. "Why are you so nice to me? Still? After all the- the dumb shit I do? I'm a dick to you and to Matt because I don't deserve anything you give me. I definitely won't when you find out everything! You- you'll hate me! And Matt will hate me even more! But you give me money and you keep me safe even when I do stupid- stupid dumb shit like driving drunk and having meltdowns and-" he wiped his eyes, still sobbing. "And I hate it! Stop being so nice! Stop being so kind to me! I didn't do anything to deserve it! Matt calls me a dick and a basket case but you're always just- just nice!"

He pushed Shiro's arms away all of a sudden, shoving him back, pushing him away feverishly, wrestling to get out of Shiro's hold as if he'd now convinced himself that he didn't even deserve the least of Shiro's concern. "Just get off of me! You- You're- You don't know what I do! And what I like to do! You don't know anything that you think that you do! I'm a monster and I'm horrible and I do horrible things and you would hate me if you knew! I'm just- I'm only going to be a fucking burden for the rest of my life if you don't just ditch me! And- and you'll really regret it if you don't!"

But all of a sudden, his fighting just stopped and yet again he slumped against Shiro's chest, trembling.

"Please. Please. Please... don't... don't leave me..."

Shiro didn't know what to do -- one moment he was being pushed away, and then next he was being embraced again. He tried to process Keith's words, trying to make sense of everything he'd been saying. Trying to understand why there had been a sickly familiar feeling associated with Keith's mindless rage and emotion even though he had to admit it was a sort of a first to see him so distraught. The last time Keith had even gotten close to that point of emotion had been one of the drunken nights after he received a letter that she would be away for longer than they all thought she would have been. When Shiro had showed up at Keith's place, he had already been fairly drunk, but they still drank the rest of Keith's vodka together, and Keith still cried himself to sleep beside Shiro on that ratty old mattress of his.

"I won't leave you, Keith," Shiro said, deciding not to lift his arms back up to hug him again just incase Keith would have another sort of outburst. He just sat still, letting Keith slump against his chest and grip the fabric of his shirt into his shaking fists. "You know that. I would never leave you. No matter what you do... or... or what you're doing."

Shiro didn't want to wonder exactly what Keith meant by all of that.

He gave a low sigh, flicking his eyes up to Matt, and then back down at the sobbing, trembling Keith. "Let's... let's go upstairs, okay?" Shiro said quietly, swallowing hard. "You're not in a good state of mind. You need to rest."

Keith wiped at his eyes, hiccuping a little, still trembling badly. "Tell Matt I dont mean to be a dick to him," he whined out. "He wouldn't- wouldn't believe me if I said it."

He got to his feet nonetheless, though, despite how shaky he was as he began toward the door to the bedrooms. "Fuck... my head... I want to have something else to drink," he complained to Shiro, reaching out to grip onto his arm to steady himself. "Where am I... where will I sleep?" He could barely stay upright. Had Shiro's floor always moved this much? Wobbling under his feet to trip him up and knock him down. He hated it. He hated all of this. He hated the sickly guilt and sadness stuck in his stomach. He hated thinking of that classified fucking file that was going to kill him or kill Shiro.

He hated himself for all of this.

Shiro guided him along slowly, casting one final glance at Matt on his way out — who looked about as shocked as he could be. Shiro focused back onto Keith though when they made it to the stairway, knowing that Keith would need some extra attention while climbing them. He placed one hand on the small of Keith's back, and used the other to hold Keith's hand, also using Keith's death grip on his arm to their advantage.

"You can have water. That's the only thing that'll make you feel better," Shiro told him as they shakily overcame the first step. He had moved Keith towards the wall so he could grasp onto the staircase handle if he needed it — also so that if he started to fall Shiro could push him against the wall to sort of balance him. "I have guest rooms you can use. Or my bedroom if you don't want to be alone. Whatever makes you more comfortable."

"Don't leave me," Keith said again, shaking a little as he managed to get to Shiro's room, pushing himself to the bed and only barely prying himself away from Shiro in time to slump himself down on it, curling up as small as he could in the corner of the bed, lying on top of the pillows, groaning as he tugged the blanket up and over him, not noticing as Black got up and leapt off, having been disrupted from her new, supposedly peaceful place.

And he curled up, hugging his knees, mumbling something almost unintelligible about wanting something to drink- a little indirect demand for Shiro to get him something. As long as Shiro wasn't gone for long, he'd be able to handle it. Surely.

Shiro nodded, keeping his hand settled on Keith's shoulder for a few good moments just to make sure he was settled. "I won't leave you, Keith," Shiro promised slowly, leaning forwards to try and get a good look at his face. He heard Keith grumble something about a drink, and he looked off towards the door, swallowing hard as he considered heading downstairs to quickly grab Keith his bottle of water. Shiro turned to look at the door, and smiled a weak sort of grin when he saw Matt leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and his eyes somewhat curious as he peered a Keith's curled up spot on the bed.

"Can you stay with him a second?" Shiro mouthed, nodding down at Keith. He smiled a little bit more when Matt nodded his head and slowly leaned up off of the doorframe, walking deeper into Shiro's room and then stopping at the foot of the bed. Shiro gave him a thumbs up, and then stood up straight.

He gave Keith's shoulder a little pat. "I'll go get you something to drink, okay?" he said very quietly, slowly taking his hand from Keith's arm. "I'm not leaving. I'm just going downstairs and coming right back, okay?" Shiro didn't seem to get a response -- Keith only gave an incomprehensible mumble and curled up a bit tighter beneath the blankets. He waited a second or so, shrugged, and then carefully stepped back from the bed, patting Matt's arm as he passed him. In a few moments, he was out of the bedroom and scrambling downstairs to grab Keith's water and his bucket, leaving Keith and Matt alone in his bedroom.

Matt, turning his head to check and see if Shiro was gone, began to move to the side of the bed, cocking his head a little as he looked Keith's pathetic little ball up and down. "Jesus," he muttered, shaking his head a little. "You're fucking hammered. I doubt you even know I'm here."

Keith groaned and wiped at his face, his gaze slowly dragging up to Matt- who he mistook for Shiro with his blurry eyesight and his dreary, slow working brain.   
"Shiro..." he murmured, his voice heavy with intoxication. "I... fuck, Shiro... I'm in love... I think... I fucking love you... or some shit." His words were getting gradually more and more slurred, his eyes fluttering closed, but his words were clear enough not to be mistaken. "I love you, Shiro," he then said again, his voice dragging out, but making the words so painfully obvious to Matt. "It's... fucking annoying... I hate love..."

And with that- and perhaps another few almost unintelligible murmurs, Keith's eyes closed and he slumped entirely, his body losing any tension as he passed out. He'd drink his water in the morning, when he'd need it far more desperately. Until then, Matt would have to deal with this newfound information. The blatant statement that Shiro's feelings for Keith were reciprocated but that Keith seemed to feel equally as uncomfortable with them as Shiro was.

Matt's face had paled a little, his eyes wide as Keith's words hung heavy in the air -- drunken conviction and all. He leaned forwards a little bit and muttered Keith's name when he had slumped so suddenly, reaching forwards to careful prod his shoulder, motions like someone poking a dead animal of sorts before he moved back, figuring Keith had just blacked out. He looked down at his hand, slowly closing it into a fist and shaking his head a little before stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie.

"Well," he said to himself and the empty room around him. "Shit."

Shiro's footsteps came from the hall -- when Matt turned around he was already at the door, making his way into his room and towards the bed rather quickly before Matt held his hand up to stop him. When Shiro parted his lips to ask why, Matt nodded towards the bed, showing Shiro just how dead to the world Keith had been in his little curled up circle on the pillows.

"Oh. What happened?" Shiro asked, slowing his pace as he made his way up to Matt's side. He set the bucket down at their feet, turning the water bottle over in his hands.

Matt shrugged. "Just blacked out," he mumbled, voice a little dazed with his previous shock. "Happens when you're drunk."

Shiro nodded, looking down at the water and offering a light frown. He set it on the bedside table, before reaching towards the cord of his alarm clock and yanking it from the wall -- making sure it wouldn't go off in the morning and wake Keith up. He would have to shut off all the alarms on his phone too. Shiro made a mental note of that as he turned back to Matt.

"Sorry for just leaving you with him. I tried to get back up here as fast as I could," Shiro said, sighing a little. He reached his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes over to the unconscious Keith. The snores of someone blackout-drunk were already growing louder with each long, quaking breath he took. Shiro's frown grew a little more concerned, but he willed the feeling away, figuring it was at least a little good that Keith had been sleeping so soundly. "Did he, uh, say anything else?"

Matt was quiet for a second, his gaze trained back onto Keith. It took him a moment or so to decide what answer would have been best for Shiro to hear... but after a moment or so of his indecision, Matt shrugged his shoulders high and shook his head, finally shedding off the slight shock as he looked back up to Shiro.

"No, not really," he said, smiling a little bit. "Nothing important."


	18. Keith

Shiro took a deep breath, feeling the cool air of the night filter through his mask and flush through his lungs, the harsher brush of the breeze rushing past him as he leaned up straight, just living in his moment, blissfully taking everything that he had missed for the past few months in. As always, the city was alive -- even at night. Shiro could see the twinkle of the lights stretch for miles: each and every squared window of the skyscrapers an amber yellow, the brakelights of the cars that moved in sluggish lines through the streets glowing red, the stop lights flashing their assorted colors at every intersection. Even from his perch on the building he'd been sat on top of, having climbed up there from the fire escape, he could hear the sounds of the city too. Car horns, guttural engines, the very faint chitter-chatter of the surging crowds below. Friday night in one of the most populated areas of the city were always busy like that, but Shiro didn't mind. In fact, he more than didn't mind. He embraced it.

It was a good distraction. From work and its dozens and dozens of papers and reports and request sheets. From Curtis and his disappointed sigh from last Friday when Shiro had said no to sex yet again. From Keith and those pretty eyes of his... or that handsome smile... or the way he looked away from Shiro whenever Shiro's stare would become too much of a longing one...

It was a good distraction. Shiro could just leave it at that.

He leaned back a little, a small smile curling up his lips. It was his fifth time out and about as the Black Paladin since the fight with Sendak, and he still couldn't believe how much he missed it. The obscurity of the night. The feeling he'd get after doing the right thing. The looks on peoples faces when he helped them. Even if it was smaller jobs like taking down muggers or robbers, it was incredibly satisfying after weeks and weeks of laying idly about with nothing to do. Just sitting atop of some apartment building with his legs dangling off the high rooftop, the police scanner buzzing by his side and the city laid out before him in a beautifully active scene of lights and life... it was a perfect feeling.

"Well," Shiro sighed after a moment or so, slumping his shoulders. "I guess we could call it a night. What time is it, Matt?"

Matt hummed a little, his groggy voice tired when he spoke again. "A little after midnight," he told him, the words crisp and sharp through Shiro's new comm. His whole suit had been upgraded, really -- the armor was more shock absorbant, the mask stronger to protect Shiro from head trauma. The whole thing still smelled nice and fresh, like a new car rather than dried blood and sweat like the old one did. "This was a good night. That chick you saved was real thankful."

Shiro smirked. "I didn't know what to say when she asked me for a selfie." He gave a soft snicker, leaning up and groping for the dormant police scanner.

"You say yes. Duh. You're already a big hit on the news. 'The Black Paladin makes a comeback.' You would have made that girl's week." Shiro laughed.

He gave a slight shrug, standing up and clipping the police scanner to his hip. "I saved her life. I figured that was enough," Shiro hummed, reaching his arm up and over his head to stretch out his back some. "What's next? We make me a Facebook page or something?"

Matt snorted. "Ugh. Of course not," he muttered. Shiro could almost see him shaking his head. "Facebook is for forty year old moms. We'd make you an Instagram. Or maybe even a Twitter. Ah, that would be so cool. We should start thinking about that."

"Mm, sure. Then I can just slide into Zarkon's DMs and ask him for his location, right?"

There was a groan from Matt's side. "I don't think you know how to use that joke, Shiro."

Shiro laughed, turning and stepping off of the ledge of the building and onto its flatter, safer surface and making his way towards the fire escape so he could get to the ground. "Oh, shut up," he snickered. "You're making me feel old. I'm only like... what? Two years older than you?"

 

"What's that? I can't hear you over the sound of your hip breaking."

"God, you're ridiculous." Shiro shook his head, setting his hand on the metal railing of the fire escape so he could start scaling down it. "Well I can't hear you over the sound of your-"

He was cut off when the police scanner bursted to life from his hip in an instant, a woman's voice stopping Shiro in his tracks as he paused to listen to it, still and tense as the codes and the warnings began to buzz from the speakers of the little scanner. The woman spoke quickly, urgently. Shiro listened, at first overjoyed at the idea of another job. But the more she went on the more his face had paled and the more his stomach had sunk. A slight sense of internal dread began to instil itself in Shiro's gut, but he ignored it, furrowing his brow and looking down at the scanner, grimly waiting for the woman to list of an address.

She did. Shiro checked his location. He was close -- he could get there before any of the police did if he tried.

"Do you think I could handle it, Matt?" Shiro asked, knowing he didn't have to elaborate. Matt heard the report too. He knew exactly what the threat was... Shiro just wanted to know if it was a smart move to make sure he'd be ready enough to stop it.

Matt was very silent for a moment or two. Shiro could almost hear his thoughtfulness from his side of the comm, noticing the lack of keyboard clacks or the crunching of cereal.

"If I said no, would you just pout about it all night?" Matt asked in a slightly teasing tone. When his joke earned no response, however there was a deep sigh from his end, and just one more long second of silence before he spoke again.

"You can do it, Shiro," Matt murmured, his voice quiet but backed with a confident layer of conviction. "Why don't we show the Red Flame who's back in town?"

~~~

The reported crime was arson, as was obvious, though several people nearby had been subdued non-lethally. It was also mentioned that inside the building there was somewhere between seven and eight people, all of which on the third floor or higher while the fire was starting to spread to the second floor and there was no way to escape that wouldn't lead to at least a couple broken bones.

And Keith, due to poor planning and inconvenient circumstances, had ended up trapped inside the building too. He was assigned to kill one person but there had been too many in the building and when he'd asked Zarkon what to do in this kind of a situation, he'd been told just to take out whoever was necessary to get to the big fish. To his sole target. Even if the not-so-innocents would die too and thinking of that might make Keith's stomach turn, he couldn't do anything about it and right now his only focus should be on getting the hell out of the burning building. His suit was a little cleaner and fireproof, yes, but that didn't mean that he'd suddenly become immune to the sweltering heat or the painfully bright licks of fire. He definitely wouldn't be able to last long enough to find and open a window that he could safely jump from on the second floor.

So, from the look of things, he was going to become one of the necessary sacrifices needed to take down Ranveig, who was hidden off in this building near the top floor. Who likely wouldn't notice this until it was too late. Who would perish alongside several of his inferiors and a vigilante with nothing but sheer determination currently keeping him from accepting his fate.

"Shit," he had murmured under his breath as he took a few steps back, the fire beginning to eat away at the floor near him. It would be a matter of time before he'd have to go up a floor and everyone would see that he, the one who had set the fire, was fair game to attack and/or kill. A little taste of revenge for a fate that was yet to come. That was the only reason why he was hoping that the fire brigade would arrive. He would get a second chance to deal with Ranveig if he explained everything openly and honestly to Zarkon. Told him it was a mistake, it was certain death, he had to keep going and if the firefighters hadn't arrived he wouldn't have been able to.

But that was all in theory.

Right now, he was stood in the hall by the staircase, anxiously awaiting the moment when he'd need to start up those stairs or that something would go wrong for the mission so that it could go right for him.

If Lance hadn't set that fucking can of gasoline in such a stupid place, tucked away behind a heating system and out of Keith's sight, he would have avoided this. Instead he poured one bottle, flicked his match, and the second one exploded not too far from the door. That was how he got the burns along his forearms and stomach, standing a little too close to the fire at the time of the explosion. No suit, no matter how advanced, could fight that kind of damage. That was what had cut off his only exit and that was what made the first floor burn too fast, gaining outside attention, getting the fire brigade called to the scene and getting media attention. That was the fatal mistake Lance had made that was going to kill him in the most agonising way possible.

The only fair way for an arsonist like him to die.

But for now, in the moment, he was going to enjoy feeling the warmth licking away at him and the smell of smoke and burning furniture. In the moment, what could have been his last, he was going to lean against that wall, his forearms sizzling with heat and aching underneath the suit. His stomach burning and hurting just a little more with every slight movement of his body and every little breath. He slid down the wall to settle on the floor, needing to breathe in clear air that didn't have smoke in it. The mask was making it difficult to breathe but he knew better than to remove it and expose his face to the intense levels of heat inside the burning room.

And here he would wait until he needed to climb the stairs and access the third level and hope that there wouldn't be anyone there to see him and lash out. Hopefully they would all have gotten as high up as possible to avoid the flames instead of lingering for just long enough to see him here.

Hopefully, if he would die here, nobody would notice him at all.

Shiro had to admit he was thrown into a sort of shock upon arriving to the scene -- his eyes opening wide underneath his mask at the five story building before him, already losing its desperate fight against the flames. Windows shattered from the heat, spraying glass shards outwards with a piercing cry of breaking glass. The structure groaned at the dying support, the wood columns bending, the metal skeleton cringing in on itself as he flames ate their way up the first floor. It was obvious the building would be nothing but a charred corpse by the time the fire department and the police got to it -- the traffic that night was bad. The streets were clogged up. It would be impossible for them to get there in time, even if their sirens wailed almost miserably in the distance.

People were already fleeing the scene, covering in ash and soot, waving their hands before their faces and coughing up a storm into their palms. Shiro could feel his heart drop at the sight of the last trickle of civilians, that hurried their way out from one of the collapsing doorways of the building, wondering what had prompted Red to take such a reckless step. He'd never involved innocents in such a way before. Shiro rushed forwards to the door, meeting a group of three people -- a thrashing woman being dragged from her elbows from two larger friends. Shiro could hear her screaming as the other two pulled her past, his gaze following them as they dragged her to the sidewalk.

"We can't leave them!" she cried, coughing as she fought against her friends.. "My sisters! They'll die-!"

Her gaze met Shiro, the blue glow of his suit cutting through the smoky haze and dark shadow of the night. Hope brightened across her ash smeared features, and she leaned forwards, her legs locking as she pushed against her friends in one final attempt of resistance.

"You! You can save them, can't you?" her voice was beyond desperate, the tears streaming down her face and cleaning away streaks of black soot from her cheeks as she continued to cry. "My sisters are on the upper floor! Please! Don't let them die!"

That was all it took to forget about Red entirely.

Shiro didn't even need a moment to process. He just offered a firm nod, and then turned around, visually mapping out the building before him -- the only way in without breaking down a wall or two had been the doorway people had been fleeing from, the one in the process of collapsing. Without thinking and ignoring the spluttered argument from Matt in his ear, Shiro sprang forwards, running and leaping for the doorway, managing to tuck and roll beneath the falling rubble before it blocked off what seemed to be the last natural exit of the building. He stood up, crisp wood and glass shards crunching beneath his gloves as he pushed himself to his feet. The oxygen filters were already moving in his mask, giving him cool air to breath that would last about fifteen more minutes -- he'd have to work fast.

Matt told him the main stairway and the elevators were useless, but there was a staircase in the back specifically made for fire emergencies. Shiro didn't waste any time trekking his way through the dark, smoky lobby of the building, trying to keep his vision steady with the bouncing flash of firelight around him. Wood crashed and sparked. Flame crackled and popped. Beneath it all Shiro could hear screams from the upper floors. They just pushed him to go faster.

Along the way through the first floor he met more stumbling civilians, each one blanketed with shock and hysteria. He lead them each to windows, kicking in the weak wall to create makeshift doorways before leading them out into the fresh night sky and telling them to head towards the front where the other survivors congregated.

It was what he did with those he met on the other floors once he had found the emergency stairwell -- rushing up, gathering all of those he could find, and then herding them back down. Matt gave him status reports of the building. He told him where there were people, where was safe and where wasn't, how much time the building had left before collapsing, and then any updates he could have had on the Red Flame.

The search and rescue went on for maybe seven minutes before Shiro had gotten mostly everyone out. He retreated back down to the bottom floor, his emergency stairwell taken victim by the flames as well. All of his makeshift doorways were collapsed in on themselves, leaving him trapped until he would find another weak spot and kick in a new one.

There were maybe three or four people left -- all up on the very top floor of the building, the only one Shiro hadn't been able to reach.

He stepped back a little, panting his limited air supply as he thought out a plan of action. Sweat coated his body beneath the suit, the heat exhaustion rolling waves through him with every flush of flame. He had a few burns -- all of them minor, the skin just skinning a little under the weak spots of his armor like the insides of his elbows or the skin of his neck.

"Try cutting through to the very back of the building -- maybe you could find a ladder or a fire escape back there and get upstairs that way."

Shiro nodded, keeping quiet to save his air but completely grateful for Matt's ideas feeding his tired brain. He started his way deeper into the building, skittish around the burning piles of sparking embers and splintered furniture. He ventured his way into the back room, scanning the walls for a way out -- but he was distracted by a loud pound from the right wall. He flicked his head that way, and felt his stomach sink at the figure he saw before him.

The Red Flame.

He was kicking against the walls, just like Shiro had done before, trying to find a weak spot. Shiro wondered with a bleak sense of irony if he'd gotten himself stuck. His suit was flekked with amber-orange sparks and the normally vibrant red shades were smeared with the black of soot and ash. Shiro froze up, Matt going silent in his ear -- but it seemed as though Red hadn't even noticed him over the roaring of the flames and the groaning of the building. Shiro swallowed hard and started forwards carefully, a primal sense of fear stirring in his gut.

Red knew who he was. It was a terrifying thought to remember.

"Hey!" Shiro called over the sounds of the building around them. He watched Red tense, stepping forwards a bit when the arsonist turned his head to look at him. Shiro figured a passive approach would work best at the moment, so he rose up his hands a little, arms at ninety degree angles and his fingers splayed open in a sign of peace. "This building is going down. You're lucky I was able to save most of the civillains already. Get out of here before things start getting ugly, okay? I don't want to fight you. There's people on the top floor who need my help."

Keith turned to look at him, gritting his teeth a little as he turned and began toward Shiro.  
"You need to fuck off," he said, approaching Shiro a little more but keeping about a metre between him both for his own safety and to avoid more conflict. He knew that he wouldn't be able to win a fight if he was challenged to one. Not in his condition. Not while he was about to cough up his own smoky lungs. "Seriously. Get out of here. Whether you fight me or not you just have to listen to me and fuck off."

He straightened up a little, trying to regulate his breathing and trying to avoid having a coughing fit in front of Shiro and show clear weakness. He was already aware that he was going to die soon. If he stayed here much longer he was definitely going to die. Hopefully, though, he'd be able to pass out before the flames got to him so he could be unconscious when he died such a painful death. Hopefully, as morbid as it was to see that as a lucky or as the best outcome. He already knew he wouldn't be able to live if he threw himself out of the window from the third floor- and if he did he'd be arrested or caught somehow. Especially now that Shiro was here.

Attempting to leave could get him killed or arrested. Staying here and submitting to his fate would at least give him the chance of dying without as much agony as being set on fire. If he could get access to a knife- or something equally as sharp- he might be able to give himself a swifter and less painful death.

But he'd only be able to do that if Shiro left. And he couldn't afford to have Shiro going up and saving Ranveig. His last mission couldn't be failed.

Shiro frowned at him from the beneath the mask. He could hear Red's scratchy voice in his breathless words -- it was obvious he wasn't going to last much longer. Matt was telling him that the room around them was nearly devoid of all of its air, and that Red was likely on the verge of passing out from asphyxiation. He gave a soft sigh and let his arms drop down to his sides, stopping maybe five or six feet in front of the panting Red Flame.

"Listen, you saved my life twice now. I can get you out of here." Shiro's voice was loud, boosted from the microphone of his mask and distorted from the audio filter, even though he knew he didn't need to around Red anymore. He started moving forwards, slowly, his footsteps crunching the brittle glass and the charred chunks of wood and debris "All you'd have to do is walk away, Red, and let me save those people up there. I don't care who your target is -- you almost killed dozens of innocents tonight and I know that can't sit right. Just let me get you out of here and then walk away from this one, alright?"

"I have orders!" Keith snapped, taking a step forward and carelessly swinging a fist into Shiro's armoured stomach, moving a little closer. "I have to kill him! You don't know what he's done!" He took another few steps forward, shoving Shiro's harshly to get him to move back. He coughed a little, moving one hand over his mouth as he coughed again and again, taking a few moments to recover. "You need to let me kill him! Hardly anyone you saved is actually innocent- and I would have left them time to escape if it weren't for the explosion!"

He took another step forward, though stumbled a little and when he swung a fist it was too clumsy to ever have had any affect. He realised that the moment after he tried to attack Shiro, knowing that he was going to lose this fight but being too reckless and impulsive to care until he'd already instigated it.

Shiro let his first two attacks land, knowing he was too weak and discombobulated to do any sort of damage -- the most he could do was bruise his own knuckles on Shiro's armor, really. The third attack and the second punch, however, Shiro decided to dodge, stepping back from Red's mindless swing. He figured he had to diffuse the situation before Red grew too violent. In an instant he reached outwards, grabbing onto Red's shoulder and pulling him into his chest, wrapping both arms over the Flame's torso to trap him in a sort of backwards hug. Shiro felt Red begin to thrash, his shoulder blades digging into Shiro's armored chest, so he squeezed the slightest bit tighter, careful not to stunt his breathing even more.

"I told you I wasn't going to fight," Shiro said, tone a little grunted with the effort of keeping Red contained. He was strong for someone running out of oxygen. "You're too weak. I'm not going to do that -- it's not fair. Stop struggling."

"Get off of me!" Shouted Keith as he felt Shiro's hold on him tighten, already finding it hard enough to breathe without two arms, one prosthetic, applying pressure to his chest.

A low growl rumbled out from his throat as he squirmed more, driving his leg back into Shiro's shin before he got the brilliant idea to push up off the floor and launch himself into Shiro's jaw. The impact, naturally, made his vision flash white as his head took the hit and it made him feel dizzy for a few moments but it was successful. The attack distracted Shiro, catching him off guard long enough for the arms to loosen around him. He grabbed onto Shiro's forearm with both hands and, in one swift movement, launched him over his shoulder. He managed to slam him onto the floor before he took a few steps back, the exertion from such a drastic action making him gasp for breath, even if that did mean taking in dirty air and loads more smoke than he'd already breathed in. He coughed more, distracting himself from Shiro and not paying any further attention to him until he saw the movement and noticed him getting up.

Shiro groaned, squeezing his eyes shut to try and will the bursts of stars away as he pushed up on his elbows. He couldn't decide whether or not it was the shock of the situation or the impact that made him dizzy for that moment or so, but Shiro didn't really figure that it mattered. Instead he shook his head a little and pushed up to his feet, mumbling out an 'I'm fine' to answer Matt's frantic question in his ear. Shiro looked up at Keith, feeling an anger begin to brew up in his system and cloud his judgement a bit.

It was the same sort of anger he felt in that hospital bed -- not enough of it to make him snap like he had done, of course, but enough to make him lack the his normal set of morals. Shiro grit his teeth beneath his mask, and started forwards, watching as Red noticed him advancing. When Red started forwards to attack again, Shiro caught his weak punch in his prosthetic hand and then turned his wrist to the side, a harsh snap reverberating up the metal skeleton of of his arm from Red's wrist. Shiro ignored the cry of pain the action drew from Red's masked lips, and then he ignored Red's retaliation, punching him swiftly in the stomach when the Flame tried to attack him again. The blow caused his knees to buckle, and Shiro stepped back, letting go of his hand and allowing him to fall to the floor. It was only when he saw the agonized, breathless writhing of the man on the ground before him that his head cleared and he realized what he had done. Shiro's eyes drifted down to his hands, a soft buzz of guilt thrumming through his system.

The first thing that had hit Keith when he'd fallen to the floor was how difficult it had been to breathe. The way that his body wheezed and his shoulders racked with every movement as he tried to gasp in air. He'd stayed too long. Taken in too much smoke. He would be lucky to last more than a few minutes in here at this rate, especially as he was now gasping and choking and coughing, desperately trying to get air into his lungs even if he was panting. He felt like he was going to die, and even if he could leave he wouldn't be willing to risk taking off his mask to let himself breathe more clearly.

He couldn't stay in here like this. He couldn't survive in here like this. All that was stopping him from leaving was Shiro- his dumb choice to start a fight and his dumber choice not to just leave. And the thought that even if he did leave, there was always that little chance that Shiro would see his face. His real identity. That Shiro would see him and that Keith would have to watch that betrayal, that anger, cross his features. He had been trying to get out of this stupid job for so long but now he'd been assigned to find out who the Black Paladin was and he wouldn't be able to quit until he gave them a name and supporting evidence and the Black Paladin truly went away.

So, as he lay there, coughing until he tasted blood in his mouth, trying to gasp in air through his burning throat, he began to hope that Shiro would just move on. Save Ranveig and whoever else could have been upstairs. Leave him here to die.

Shiro couldn't do that.

He brought his gaze up from his hands and instead flicked them up to the ceiling, as if he could see through each and every floor to the very top one. The building was close to collapsing by then — not to mention the level Shiro's oxygen in his mask were nearing a dangerous low. He wouldn't have time to find a way all the way up to the top floor and then back down again. As much as it made his heart clench and his nerves boil, Shiro knew that the people up there were likely already dead. If not, they were dying. The flames had gotten too high — the smoke had risen a long time ago. Shiro couldn't save them.

But there was someone he could save.

There wasn't even a beat of hesitation before Shiro had knelt down beside Red. He didn't listen to Matt in his ears telling him it wasn't worth it, and instead slung the Red Flames arm over his shoulder, listening to those grating breaths and those haggard coughs, all muffled behind the soot covered fabric of his mask. Shiro stood up, hoisting Red with him, and started out towards the way he had gotten in, desperately searching for another weak point in the walls that he could kick in — some sort of safe place to escape from. His eyes landed on one of the collapsing windows, one with the least shattered glass and the least amount of flames licking at its sill. Shiro half carried-half dragged Red over to it, kicked in the already weakened section of the wall beneath it, and then quickly made his way through his makeshift doorway before it would collapse again.

He had leapt through it in just the nick of time — a gust of heat and ash wafted out from the makeshift exit as chunks of wood and debris inside fell in front of his doorway, blocking off the the building's innards once again. Shiro swore quietly, shaking his head a little and then turning away from the groaning building, eyes scanning the area for somewhere safe to lay Red down.

There was a flash of red and blue off by the front of the building, along with the melancholic whirring of sirens -- Shiro was sure the police had finally made it along with the fire department and the ambulance. He didn't think they'd take too kindly to the man who had set the fire in the first place, whether he was near hyperventilating or not, so Shiro crossed that off of his list. Instead, he started down the back alleyway, away from the burning building and deeper into the twisted maze that was the city's slums. He made it to an empty parking facility and slipped inside of its first floor, Matt shutting down the cameras as he passed by them. Shiro found the first corner and stopped there, setting Red down so he sat upright against a concrete wall.

The Red Flame was still coughing up what had to be his lungs, wheezing wetly for air beneath that mask of his, his body heaving beneath his suit. When Shiro gently settled his hand over Red's chest, he could hear his rapid heartbeat flutter beneath the rapid rising and sinking of his rib cage. Guilt was churning about Shiro's system. He was sure the blow to Red's stomach had done a fair amount of the damage... not to mention Shiro had snapped the man's wrist without any sort of hesitation.

He would have to talk to Matt about this new temper of his. Maybe Lotor. Maybe even Keith.

Shiro sank down to his knees and leaned back on his haunches, reaching his hand up to his mask to release its gears. He ignored Matt's questioning as he slipped his helmet from his head, setting it down beside him and then wiping a gloved hand across his forehead to try and relieve himself of some sweat. After a few moments of watching Red struggle to breathe, Shiro reluctantly gathered up the courage to lean forwards, his hand cautiously reaching for the Flame's own mask. Red instantly tensed up however, and he reeled backwards the best he could. Shiro paused frowning a little and biting the inside of his cheek.

"Look," he said, voice very soft. "You can't breathe very well. I'm going to give you my mask to wear for a bit -- I have a ventilation system set up. If you don't want it that's fine but your mask isn't helping you. All you're doing is breathing in the fumes from the building... it's just making everything worse. You need clean air, Red."

The Flame still struggled to get away from him, shaking his head back and forth in the most desperate sort of way.

"Just fuck off!" Red snapped between coughs, still trying to shove Shiro away. "I'd rather- I'd rather just die here, okay?!"

Shiro, despite everything, offered the weakest little snort.

"Oh come on," he said, smiling a little as he reached for Red's mask. The Flame hung his head downwards, almost ducking away from Shiro's hand, but he managed to get a hold of it and began searching for the same sort of release button that his own mask had. "You know who I am. It's only fair, man."

Without further question, Shiro pressed the button. The mask's gears instantly relaxed, all the locks holding it in place clicking open. It slipped from Red's face, falling to the ground with the slightest little clatter.

The clatter was the last thing Shiro heard before he felt everything around him fall silent.

It was like he'd been submerged into water -- he couldn't hear see past or breathe -- only it had been... it had been like icy water. The type of water that seems to wrap someone up in a thin sheet of bitter pain, the sting of subzero temperatures sinking into his nerves like thin little needles.

The impact of seeing those familiar eyes peer up at him was like the impact of hitting the surface of those icy waves. The gelid water hurt like nothing he had ever felt before, knocking the air right out of him, making his vision spot with color, making his insides seize with panic. Running his eyes down and realizing all of those familiar features before him was like realizing he was going to drown. The primal fear rising up in his system like bile and making him freeze up with an instant sort of panic. The feeling he felt flush through him when those eyes guiltily flicked away from him was like the numbness he would feel once the chill of the water began to freeze over his nerves. Everything inside of Shiro seemed to buzz with a reverberation of shock that made him feel sick to his very stomach.

"Keith?"

Shiro didn't know how he spoke. He felt like he was still drowning. The voice didn't even sound like him... it was nothing but a pathetic sort of murmur. Shiro couldn't utter such a sound, could he? Maybe it wasn't him? Shiro didn't know. His head spun too fast for him to keep up. He was still stuck in that frozen pool of his worst nightmare.

"This... this has so be some kind of... some kind of a mistake..." Shiro was shaking his head. He still didn't know if he had been the one talking or not. The words just sort of sounded out from his numb lips. "What are you doing here, Keith? Why are you in that suit? Wh-why are you around fires? Where is... who is Red if you're in his suit? You shouldn't be here. You might have a-... a panic attack-"

Matt's voice was suddenly as loud as a bell in Shiro's ear.

"Shiro." He sounded tired. Angry. Concerned. Shiro didn't know what to make of it all. "You know what he's doing there. You know why he's in that suit. You know who the Red Flame is."

Shiro shook his head. "No I don't," he said firmly. "No I don't. If... if I knew then it would be Keith and-... and i-it can't be Keith. He's our friend. I care about him, and he..."

Does he care about you Shiro?

There were tears in his eyes. Lots of them -- all slipping away and falling from them too. Why? Shiro didn't feel like he was crying, but there were certainly trails of hot teardrops trailing down his cheeks and clinging to his jaw. He didn't know why -- it was just Keith. Shiro loved Keith. Why was he crying if Keith was there? He was always happier when Keith was around.

"Keith, tell me this isn't what it looks like," Shiro begged, shaking his head. "I... tell me something. You can't... you can't do this to me. Please. Please."

Shiro waited for Keith to look up at him and come up with some intricate lie Shiro could fool himself into believing, but he didn't really do anything aside from his occasional cough. Anger flushed like burning acid through Shiro's bloodstream, and he leaned forwards, gritting his teeth, letting the tears flow endlessly down his cheeks. He shook his head a little, his whole body trembling. From the shock? From the betrayal? Maybe from the cold.

"At least say something!" Shiro shouted, his voice ringing around the parking facility. "A-at least look at me! Please!"

"But wouldn't it be better not to?" was all that Keith managed to come out with, his voice softer than usual, shaking, his eyes fixed to the floor. He had flinched when Shiro suddenly raised his voice- as if h e expected to be hit or for this sudden burst of anger to do something violent. He sure as hell would have deserved it.

What was he supposed to say that would make Shiro change his mind about all of this? 'Hey, sorry about all of the murder and stuff. Sorry for beating you up a bunch too lol I swear it was nothing personal. Actually, I've been trying to quit for a while but arson is kinda like smoking and it's harder to give up than you'd expect. Oh, and my boss wants me to kill or out you so... I can't really quit anymore.'

Yeah. That would work.

He leant forward, doubling over a little and coughing, feeling it burn his already sore throat and feeling the impact of the coughs shake his ribcage. God, he'd be lucky if he didn't have to go to hospital after this. Especially as not even the arson would pay for those bills and he was pretty damn sure that Shiro wasn't going to offer to pay for them for him. He'd do what he always did and heal at home. It was that or bankruptcy.

Slowly, though, he did manage to lift his gaze to Shiro. Even if the shock and betrayal in his eyes sent ice through Keith's veins and made all of this horrible, horrible situation suddenly real again.

"What do you want me to say, Shiro? That it wasn't me? That I hated this? That I- I was blackmailed? Or threatened? Or forced? Because I was threatened, yes, but I chose to do this job. I didn't hate it. I've lied to you about it again and again and- and I forced myself to have that panic attack because Matt was catching on. I liked doing this. But... But then I was getting assignments to kill you and I couldn't do it. I thought it would be easier but I couldn't kill you and then I got in some real shit with my boss and I can't quit now because there's a lot of shit being held over my head- stuff with my mom and what could happen to her if I fuck up."

 

He looked at Shiro, who seemed all but broken.

"Shiro, I- I can't take any of this back. I wouldn't if I could. But- but I can't lie to you about it anymore."

Shiro parted his lips to speak, but nothing formed in his throat. He wanted to look away from Keith, even if it was just to flick his eyes to the ground, but he couldn't do it. He was stuck in that moment, as it seemed, listening to Keith say that he wouldn't take any of it back. Listening to Keith tell him that he enjoyed his job. Enjoyed killing people. Hurting people. Hurting him.

He wanted to force himself to believe it hadn't been Keith that was talking. No, it was some twisted vision of Keith. Some nightmare of sorts. Or... or maybe Shiro could blame it all on a horrid case of stockholm syndrome -- that Keith didn't really enjoy those things his bosses forced him to do, and that Shiro could get him some help. But to just sit there and hear Keith say those things? The Keith Shiro loved with all of his heart?

"I-I could have helped you," Shiro whispered shakily, voice just barely a breath of air. "If you needed help I could... I could have done something. I'll always help you. I would have... if you just told me sooner..."

Shiro didn't know why that was the line that harshly peeled back a layer of his own shock. He felt the realization wash over him and settle into his system like a rush of pain -- it was all like someone ripping a bandage off of his heart. Shiro shook his head a little, finally gathering the strength to look away from him, down at the floor.

"You always knew who I was, didn't you?" he asked, feeling breathless. One of his hands reached up towards his chest, feeling how quickly his heart pounded against his rib cage. How each breath grew more shallow than the last. "You always... you always knew what this all meant to me but you... you still did it anyways. You still enjoyed it?" He swallowed hard, wondering if clearing that knot in his throat would help him breathe easier. It didn't. "Keith... why? For money? I could have given you money. I could have given you anything. I want... I want to give you everything Keith because I love you! Why would you do this to me?"

Shiro looked back at him, trying to feign anger out of his sorrow and failing rather miserably at it. "Keith, I love you. I trusted you. Everything I did... I did it for you. Every time I got back up, I got up so I could come home to you but... but all along you were the one hitting me? Why?"

"I didn't want to get into fights with you!" Keith defended, looking up at Shiro. "I didn't want to fight you but if you'd seen that it was me I would have been arrested or this would have happened sooner! I'm still Keith! I'm not some criminal or some monster instead! I was offered a job and I took it because I didn't want to rely on you. I didn't want to be doing all of this to you- I thought you'd move on to another target instead of forming a rivalry with me and- and I did want to quit! I'd been trying to quit! You're making this all out to be something personal- something I did to attack you but that's not it! That was never it! You were so happy for me when I was earning my own money and I could work on my house and I didn't want to have to rely on you for that. Shiro, please, it wasn't something I did because of you or to spite you, I promise!"

He didn't want to address Shiro's confession or the way that it stung his chest to think that his feelings were returned and this was how he was finding out. This was what he had driven Shiro to do. This was all his fault.  
"Please, Shiro," he murmured, though his voice was dropping quieter as he realised how helpless this was. It was inevitable that Shiro would hate him. "I saved your life. Twice. I've been putting myself in danger by refusing to tell my boss who you are and by letting you live and for killing Sendak I could have been killed. Please. I've done, I've risked, so much for you. Please don't make it look like I hate you."

Shiro spoke without feeling it, everything in him settled into a immobilizing sense of numbness.

"It's not that you hate me," Shiro murmured weakly, shaking his head. There wasn't any sort of anger in his tone, as much as he wanted there to be. It was just a sad little mutter. Pathetic, even. It made Shiro even more sick to his stomach. "It's not that you don't love me. It's just that you don't care. You're indifferent. If you were anything more you wouldn't... you wouldn't have done this to me."

"Shiro..." Matt's voice was nothing but pity in his ear. "Just come home. He's not worth the conversation. Just come home, man. We can work it all out later."

There was a moment or heavy silence. Perhaps if Keith had said something — something Shiro could latch onto for the time being — he would have stayed. If he acknowledged Shiro's confession. If he denied any of Shiro's previous mumbles. If he had explained things one more time. Hell, if he had even reached out to grab Shiro's arm or something, Shiro would have likely stayed to help him with whatever he needed. But Keith did nothing.

Because he doesn't care.

Shiro pushed up from the ground, rising up to his feet. He reached a hand up to finally wipe away his tears, turning his head away to sniffle and hiccup a stifled sob.

"Keep the mask," he said, breath shaky. Shiro nudged his mask over to Keith with his foot, his head still turned and his eyes still averted. "Use it to stable your breathing. Maybe you could give it to your boss so you don't get in trouble. I don't care."

"Shiro, if Keith's boss gets that mask he could-"

"I said I don't care," Shiro repeated through gritted teeth, voice dark with his own emotional conviction.

Matt didn't respond to that.

Turning his back on Keith was hard enough, but the first step was even harder. It was like walking against a current — it took all of his strength just to move. But when he took that first step, he couldn't help but go ahead and take the second. And then the third. And then the fourth. And then some. Shiro walked away from Keith without another word, his head ducked and his tear filled eyes clenched tight.

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

And all that Keith could do was watch as the only person who had ever supported him turned and walked out of his life.


	19. Drowning Sorrows

It was two in the morning, and Shiro was picking up the phone.

Matt told him not to call Keith. It had been one of the very first things Matt had said to him, actually. Shiro turned off the com somewhere on his way to the apartment, cutting all of Matt's pitying consolations off into silence so he could get to his apartment in peace -- so he could brew in his own shocked numbness for awhile. The moment he had stepped through his front door, however, Matt had been on top of him again. Asking him if he was okay, telling him that he should get comfortable and relax on the couch for a bit, wondering if there was anything he could do for him. Shiro only ever really responded with shrugs and wordless nods... that was until Matt brought up Keith.

"You never have to talk to him again," Matt had said after they had settled down on the couch. "I'll call the police later, tell them who he is. They'll take care of him and you don't ever have to think about him again, okay?"

Shiro looked up at him fast, furrowing his brow a little and shaking his head. "No... don't turn him in."

Matt had just given him a sad sort of look. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and patient, but just the slightest sort of tight with that disgusted anger his words always held in regards to Keith in general. "Why not, Shiro? He's a murderer," Matt asked. "After all he's done, he deserves it."

"He didn't turn me in," Shiro said, looking away from Matt and to the floor. "I'm just... repaying the debt, I guess. Don't turn him in."

There was a long silence as Shiro's melconholic murmurs settled in the atmosphere. Matt parted his lips and took in a soft, stuttering breath, as though he meant to argue, but then he stopped himself. Another few moments passed before he attempted to speak again.

"Alright. Just... don't call him, Shiro. He doesn't deserve a second chance to explain himself. Whatever you do... don't give it to him."

Shiro wondered if that was what he was doing right then and there, sat upright in his bed, his cell phone held in his hand and Keith contact displayed brightly on his screen.

Matt had given him that warning four hours ago downstairs on that couch. After that they sat in a heavy sort of silence, waiting for the pizza Matt had ordered to get there and then eating it before Shiro quietly announced that he wanted to sleep alone upstairs. Shiro wondered if he had hurt Matt's feelings by leaving him all alone, but at the same time he couldn't find the willpower to care, really. Everything seemed to have been washed out of him -- all common thought and all common emotion. It had all been flushed away, leaving him with an empty sort of numbness he almost didn't understand.

It was the same sensationless buzz Shiro had felt back in that parking facility, kneeling before the Red Flame, processing that it had been Keith beneath that mask all along. There was no denying that it was a scary feeling. It might have been even more frightening than his ruthless anger -- to feel nothing, to be thoughtless... it could raise the most reckless of situations. Shiro figured numbly that him clicking onto Keith's contact was one of those reckless choices.

The phone ringing managed to pull some sort of emotion from Shiro's system. A drop of dread seemed to trickle through his system with each and every ring -- as if the every few seconds Keith didn't answer was like fingers pinching a pipette of boiling water down Shiro's throat. He tried to ignore it. Each and every time until the line went dead and the voicemail system clicked into play. Shiro debated simply hanging up the phone as the automated voice told him what buttons to press and to wait for the beep, but by the time his hands had caught up with his mind, the system was already beeping the the voicemail was already recording. There was a moment or so of awkward silence, Shiro's eyes widening a little as the seconds of the call timer began to blink by, knowing by then there was no turning back, really.

So he took a deep breath, sat up a bit straighter, and then he spoke.

"Keith... uh... hi." Shiro pinched his eyes closed tight, gritting his teeth. He took a few moments to overcome the mighty cringe that struck him, using that pause to try and come up with something to say -- something that wasn't as stupid and thoughtless as simply saying hi. "Matt told me not to call. Honestly I... I shouldn't have called. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what I want to hear from you... if I want to hear from you again that is..."

That last statement resonated with him, seeping deep down into his system -- bleeding through his veil of numbness. Shiro swallowed hard, furrowing his brow and setting his features a bit, lips curling into a tight frown.

"I guess I don't," he muttered. "Not really. I don't think I could take it. I managed to get through it all the first time you broke my heart but... but this is different. I've always known you never loved me the way I love you... that you never cared as much. But I could never imagine..."

Shiro trailed off, feeling the bitterness wind up in his tone -- feeling the way the sharp anger began to prick around his chest. Every spike pierced through his previous shock and sorrow, training it upon impact. Shiro's desperate attempt at shielding himself from the harshness of his betrayal was failing... but more importantly it was changing. Changing into something ugly. His eerie veil of emotionless insensibility was getting all the more corrupt, infected by his words as they left his lips. The new darkness brewing in his chest whispered things in Shiro's ear with each lapse of silence.

He doesn't care.

He's just going to laugh at this message. If he even listens to it, that is.

He used you. For sex. For money. For his job.

You're nothing to him.

Shiro's voice was darker than he'd heard it get in a long, long time when he spoke again.

"I guess I called because I didn't like the way I left things back in that parking lot. There's something else I need to tell you." Bitter. Everything was bitter -- each word nearly hissed out like he couldn't stand even leaving a message for someone who thought so little of him. For someone who didn't think of him at all, really. "I doubt you've even listened this far but... I want you to know that I think it would be best if we never saw each other again. I honestly don't know if I can stand the sight of you."

Guilt began to stir somewhere deep down in Shiro's stomach, but it was too weak for him to really get anything from it. Maybe a bleak sense of discomfort... but he could easily blame that on the anger. He felt damn near drunk on it -- that growing rage that burned harshly in his chest like flame. Like the flame that Keith murdered with. All the fires that Keith started with his own two hands.

"If you need money, you have what's left on the card I gave you. Other than that I doubt you'll need me anymore. You got your fill of sex, right?" Shiro couldn't stop himself from addressing that. It was all boiling over -- there wasn't much he could hold back, really. Tears of anger were building up in his eyes, but Shiro willed himself not to let them fall. Keith didn't deserve any more of them. "I still don't know why that... that whole thing never gave it away. I always had this secret hope that you loved me -- that you lied about that night being meaningless. Now that I think about it, I've always had some sort of hope in you... false hope. I was so... stupid. I knew all along you were taking advantage of me and I couldn't see past it. I was always the one to apologize. I was always the one in the wrong. You were too perfect. I loved you too much..."

Shiro swallowed hard, remembering that day at Lotor's manor. When he grabbed Lotor's collar in his fist and brought the other back for a punch -- nothing but thoughtless anger. Mindless rage.

He closed his eyes, and brought himself to that moment again, pulling back the fist that would be his final words.

"Well that's no longer the case, I guess. You let me down in ways I can't even explain. This all would have been better if we never even met in the first place."

Shiro didn't let his proper thought catch up with his emotions like they had done at Lotor's. He needed to be selfish. He needed to stand up for himself-

"Goodbye Keith."

He swung his mental fist down in a mighty punch.

One tap was all it took to end the call. Another tap was all it took to block Keith's contact. Forever.

The punch landed.

~~~

Keith held the phone in the palm of his hand.

He stared at it after the voicemail stopped playing, his wide and shocked eyes welling up and blurring with heavy tears that rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto his hand and screen and the bedsheets. Shiro didn't want anything to do with him. Shiro hadn't wanted anything to do with him so desperately that he couldn't manage to say this in person. He couldn't manage to voice this. He was so desperate to get rid of Keith that he left a voicemail before blocking his number.

The the guilt that twisted his stomach into knots made him dizzy with panic, made him tremble with fear and regret and remorse so overwhelming that his throat began to burn with the hints of rising bile. He hadn't thrown up due to such strong emotion in... god knows how long. Not for a good number of years, definitely. He hadn't thrown up at all since the last time he'd gotten drunk, which seemed like it was a long while ago. And yet here he was, sitting on his bed with the phone clutched so tightly in his hand that he risked breaking it, his shoulders squared up and tensed, his hands trembling so badly that he could barely keep them still, dizzy and nauseated. He couldn't help himself. He couldn't stop himself.

Thankfully, though, the twisting pain in his chest from knowing how badly he'd fucked up, how cruelly he'd betrayed Shiro, wasn't enough to induce vomiting and instead left him to tremble, curled up on the bed, tears rolling down his cheeks and leaving his face sticky around and beneath his eyes. So he did what any other reasonable person would do when they'd just faced a horrible rejection from someone that they loved and that had loved them.

He pushed his way through to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Strong stuff- he didn't bother checking the alcohol percentage- and knocking it back as quickly as he could before pouring himself a second and a third glass. Not enough to get wasted, not wanting to be too drunk to function, just wanting to drink enough to ease the pain and let him mope around without issue. So he drained a couple more glasses before clumsily screwing the cap back on and turning to begin back to the living room, slumping down on the sofa.

And he looked at the ceiling and thought of Shiro.

He thought about the Shiro that looked at him with kind and loving eyes instead of thinking about the Shiro that told him it would have been better off never knowing him at all.

He thought about the Shiro that smiled at him like he was the full moon on a clear night and promised him that they could get through everything together, not the Shiro that couldn't bear to look at him or hear his voice to the point of leaving a voicemail.

He thought about the Shiro that offered to give him money to support himself, to get new shoes, to get a cleaner just for one week to fix up his house, to get new bedding or that expensive chocolate he'd had once as a teenager and loved. Not the Shiro that regretted doing anything nice for him because Keith had become the biggest problem he'd faced in years.

He thought of the Shiro that he used to know, that he loved, that he couldn't ever bring himself to hate.

And he definitely didn't even begin to think of the Shiro that hated him. He definitely didn't even let the thought of the disgust in Shiro's voice flicker in his mind. He definitely didn't let this new Shiro, this true image of Shiro, take over the romanticised and beautiful version that he'd created in his head.

And, as he swept up Black, the little stuffed lion, and curled up into a foetal position around it, he definitely didn't think of how Shiro had told him, while clutching this very toy, that he loved him.

Pressing the stuffed toy to his nose, breathing in the scent of coffee and vanilla and that little tinted scent of smoke that Keith had given it, he tried not to imagine being curled up beside Shiro on that hospital bed, or in his bed at home, or on his sofa. No matter what, his thoughts definitely didn't dare to venture far enough to let him think of that one night of intimacy they had shared in Shiro's room so many months ago.

As much as it made his stomach twist, it made love bloom in his chest like a cloud of intoxicating pink smoke, laced with nicotine and painkillers to make it blissfully sweet and toxically addicting, yet full of glass to make it sting his lung and burn his chest every time. And when he leant back, if he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, he could almost imagine the smoke billowing past his lips, turning red as it left his lips and transcended out into the sky in dancing swirls, fading a dissipating and taking away a little lick of his happiness as it instilled him with a desire for more love to replace what he'd lost.

A desire, a need, an urge that could never be satisfied.

A hunger for a love that would never be satisfied. That he'd never get again because he'd wasted it all now.

He could almost recall how Shiro's lips had tasted against his own or the angels chorus that it had been to hear Shiro moaning his name- as if hearing Shiro say it wasn't beautiful enough.

As if hearing any beautiful little uttering of his name from Shiro's lips wouldn't sound perfect.

Any except for the apathetic, angry, hate-filled hiss of his name that had rung through the speakers when Shiro had left him on that voicemail.

How desperately he wanted to hear Shiro say his name again. Sweetly, sincerely, affectionately, as he hadn't done in a matter of days and now would never do again.

'God,' Keith thought to himself, pushing up from the bed, starting to the door and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the drawers beside the door. 'I really need to smoke to get my mind off of this shit.'

After climbing onto the roof again, earning a scrape or two, Keith slumped back against the hot tiles but ignored how they burned through his clothes. He flicked on a lighter and lit his cigarette, bringing it to hips lips and draping one arm over his face to block the sun from his eyes. It was a really sunny day today, meaning that if he stayed out for much longer than a couple of hours he was due to get a sunburn. Unless he fell asleep, though, he'd be back inside after two cigarettes. Three if he pushed it. He brought the little thing to rest between his lips and closed his eyes, taking a long and slow drag from it and feeling the comforting aching little burn swell up in his chest.

The vile cigarette smoke erased the slightest trace of the giddy clouds of love that he could have gotten instead. Thank god. He wouldn't have been able to cope if nicotine and love were having a fight in his chest, if the dull negative burn of cigarettes hadn't managed to get rid of all the giddiness love tried to force into him. He'd rather poison his loves with addiction than poison his mind with love that would ruin his life and make his job more complicated.

Hopefully he just had to complete one more job. He was on his twenty-ninth job. He would receive one more payment and then quit. Retire. Settle down, maybe get a proper job now that he could afford to support himself a few months without one. Start something for himself without Shiro constantly checking up on and pitying him.

Do something new and productive with his life.

Do anything productive at all with his life that wasn't just murder. No matter how bad the people he killed were, it was still murder. He could feign remorse all that he wanted but the fact still remained that he only cared about what he'd done because Shiro hated him for it. He'd never once thought about the people he'd killed or the harm he'd caused until it came to Shiro frowning on it and even deciding to cut him off entirely. He didn't care about the bodies in his wake and that fact still remained. He only cared about what Shiro thought of it all and Shiro hated him for it. And now what was there to do? Lie around and mope? Wait for a new job and hope that Shiro would kill him next time?

Hold that stupid fucking mask in his hand and wish he'd never been born? That's what he'd been doing last night.

A monster like him had no place here. That's all he'd learned throughout his life. Ever since he was a kid he was an outcast in some kind of way- usually it was because he preferred to be alone or didn't get along well with the other kids. Then it was because his daddy was dead and none of the other kids knew what that was like and when they asked, he responded violently. By that point he'd already made himself the reclusive freak. The violent freak with no family because his dad died and his mom was never around. The basket case who was got into fights with other kids and with staff. The broke kid who barely ate because he never had money. When he dropped out of school he had no friends, no family, nobody but Shiro who was always too busy for him. It wasn't until Shiro's parents died and Shiro had time for him that he became important to someone. That he had a friend.

And now he'd fucked it all up. He was just becoming that kid again.

He brought the cigarette between his lips again. God, he should have stolen some weed from Matt last time he went over. That shit would have been a lifesaver right about now. Instead, though, he snuffed out the end of his cigarette, reluctantly returning inside to get himself and Kosmo something to eat. A churning numbness was starting to overtake the sorrow and the anger which, as bad as it was, was so much better than feeling all of these shitty feelings.

He poured Kosmo's food and began to pour himself a bowl of cereal, settling on the kitchen island and picking up his phone to set that recording off again. Shiro hated him. Shiro had been brutally honest with every little word he had said. Keith didn't even deserve his honesty with all of the horrible things he'd done and the way he'd treated Shiro the last few years.

He put the phone down as he heard the soft, shaky breathing that came from Shiro when he decided to go through with the call. Then, slowly, hesitantly, came the greeting "Keith... uh... hi."

 

The last time that Shiro would say his voice without malice.

"Matt told me not to call." Fuck Matt. "Honestly I... I shouldn't have called. I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what I want to hear from you... if I want to hear from you again that is..." And then that slow little pause where the indifference began to curl into hatred that cut into Keith, slicing into his soul like a knife, making him feel sick. Did he just love to torment himself with this? Why else would he keep playing it? Maybe he just liked to hear Shiro's voice, even if the words were horribly malicious and the way he was addressed made him wish he'd been killed in that stupid fire that took his dad.

He turned his gaze slowly to the phone, as if he expected to see Shiro delivering the next few lines.

"I guess I don't. Not really. I don't think I could take it. I managed to get through it all the first time you broke my heart but... but this is different. I've always known you never loved me the way I love you... that you never cared as much. But I could never imagine..."

He wanted to call back just to tell Shiro that that was wrong. If any of it stung more than the rest, it was hearing Shiro say that Keith didn't love him. Or that he never even cared. Not when Keith felt those sickly fucking butterflies every single time he opened the door to see Puppy-Shiro's shining smile and bright eyes. Not when he felt that overwhelming sensation of sweetness when he heard Shiro's voice greeting him, full of excitement, that almost made him forget about every miserable little thing in his life.

"I guess I called because I didn't like the way I left things back in that parking lot. I doubt you've even listened this far but... I want you to know that I think it would be best if we never saw each other again. I honestly don't know if I can stand the sight of you. If you need money, you have what's left on the card I gave you. Other than that I doubt you'll need me anymore. You got your fill of sex, right?

That felt like Shiro twisted the blade. How many times would he listen to this shitty voicemail before the words stopped cutting him and he stopped feeling that churning in his stomach at every little insult? But... but the idea that he'd used Shiro? The idea that he'd just had sex with Shiro for, what, selfishness? His own little need for relief? He might have taken advantage of Shiro's frustration and stress but he regretted it. He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't have done any of it. Not when Shiro would hate him this much afterwards. Not when Shiro had so much more going on in his life that was more important than whether or not his little burden was horny.

That was when he stopped the recording.

 

He couldn't get past that.

He couldn't bear to listen to Shiro's final burst of anger. The tearful wavering of his tremulous voice. The way that he paused, breath catching, when his emotions got too much and willed himself to calm down. He couldn't bring himself to listen to Shiro holding back a breakdown as he tells him everything he felt so genuinely and so truly. Everything that wasn't true at all but that Shiro believed entirely. That made Keith such a horrible person in his eyes. That made Shiro never want to see him again.

He couldn't handle hearing Shiro say "This all would have been better if we never even met in the first place."

He would rather die than hear Shiro say something like that again. He would rather die than hear Shiro deliver that sharp little goodbye and the malicious muttering of his name that felt like a punch to the stomach, like the one that Shiro had administered the day prior that had started this and gotten his mask taken off.

And he picked up his phone again, setting it back to the start of the recording, and set it off playing again.

Listening to the soft little "Keith... uh... hi." that still brought butterflies to his stomach and tears to his eyes. That still sounded so sweet but now twisted with the bitterness of that final spitting of his name. Like it wasn't even worth Shiro's time. Like he was less significant than the ground Shiro walked on.

 

That's always where he knew he belonged, anyway. Dirt under Shiro's feet. The little basket case he wished he'd never met.

And with that voice recording on repeat, cutting off at the same section, he just sat there, at the breakfast counter, numb, for hours. Sometimes a tear would escape his eye or he'd get a sudden itching for nicotine but the emptiness in his chest would swallow up his motivation and suddenly he wouldn't even have the energy to wipe his eye as the hot tear tickled his skin and dripped onto the counter- much less to get up and get a cigarette. Sometimes he contemplated flicking on the lighter and resting his hand over the flame to see if, maybe, that could spark a little more emotion or bring him to do something but he never did it. He never cared enough to do it.

Shiro was right in that regard. He didn't care about anything. The bright side of that, though, was that it meant Shiro wasn't special. Shiro wasn't especially hated. Shiro wasn't nearly as bad in Keith's eyes as he acted like he was. He was just as unimportant as everything else.

He was only disturbed, pulled reluctantly from his thoughts and his chair, by the sound of a car pulling up outside, the noise setting Kosmo off barking. It interrupted Keith's morose self-loathing as he got to his feet to send Kosmo into his room, closing the door behind him to seal him away before turning to the front door.

He got there just as someone knocked and slowly, he pulled the door open.

Nothing, not even yesterday's tragedy, would have chilled his bones as much as the sight of a military officer in his Class A uniform stood at his door. A stranger, who had parked just outside his house on the street, coming to deliver some important news. And Keith just stood there, looking up at the man. Ignoring the look of neutral apathy on his face and the slight discomfort hiding in his eyes.

When the man spoke in that uncomfortably sympathetic voice, though, everything Keith had been feeling and all of the previously fragile stability he'd felt came crashing down around him. It shattered everything. He knew what was coming and suddenly, the world didn't feel like it existed around him anymore. He was just there, existing, left to endure everything from everything that happened around him.   
"Keith Kogane?" he had asked, sending a chill down Keith's spine. His throat was dry. It took a few moments for him to will himself to reply, tempted to just close the door and go back to bed to hate himself in solitude.  
"That's me," Keith nodded instead, though his voice didn't sound like his own. He didn't feel like himself. He felt sick with anticipation. Nausea. He knew what was coming and he hated it.

"Keith, the commandant of the Marine Corps has entrusted me to express his deep regret that your mother, Krolia, has been declared missing in action during her most recent deployment. The declaration was made at 1:05 today. Any further information on the case, when it is uncovered, will be shared with you either in person or over the phone. The commandant extends his deepest sympathy to you and your family in your loss."

Keith stared up at the man- who had a long and jagged scar over his left eye and white hair tied back into a braid, and couldn't even muster up anger. He couldn't even harness the littlest drop of sadness.

He kept his eyes on the man at the door. He stared at him, as if he expected there to be a moment where he said it was all a sick joke, where his mom would come out from that car and run over to him and sweep him up in her arms, telling him she loved the work he'd done on the house, telling him he'd been so perfectly behaved in her absence. Telling him she'd never leave him and offering to make him those cookies again. But nobody came.

And now he really did have nobody left.

"Alright," he eventually croaked out, nodding, taking ahold of the door handle and beginning to close the door. "Thanks for... letting me know."

And the door clicked shut. He heard the footsteps leaving his door, the car door opening and closing, and finally the car pulling out of his driveway.

 

His eyes drifted to the floor, and that was when he noticed an envelope he hadn't seen before. Sniffling, wiping his eyes to push back the tears that had yet to fall, he picked it up in trembling hands.

 

It was addressed simply 'to the homeowner' and marked with little stamps reading private. Figuring that now he was the sole homeowner, he dug his nail under the sealed flap and dragged them along slowly, cutting through the seal and taking out the freshly printed paper.

Perhaps this was meant to be the cherry on top of an already shit day. Perhaps, just this once, what he deserved for everything he'd done was coming back to him all at once.

 

Because, printed in large block capitals at the top of the letter was "NOTICE OF EVICTION" and the explanation that the council was going to be taking down all the houses in this area to rebuild new homes. Better homes. For upstanding, good citizens instead of for a newly-orphaned, basket case Keith and his dog.

Was it all some kind of a sick joke? It had to be, right? No Shiro, no family, now no home? What the hell was he going to do? He couldn't just show up at Zarkon's office and ask for a house without expecting to be roped into some mafia shit. He couldn't afford a new house without completing more missions and if he did that he ran the risk of meeting with Shiro- and he didn't even have enough jobs to get him the money he needed.

No Shiro.  
No family.

No home.

'Maybe this was how it was meant to be?' he asked himself, whistling for Kosmo and snatching up the keys for his bike, starting outside. He took another cigarette, lighting it and bringing it between his lips. He fixed Kosmo's goggles and helmet on, leaving his own helmet in the footwell of Kosmo's compartment and hopping onto his bike.

 

He needed a long fucking drive to clear his head and he needed a lot to drink.


	20. Unwanted

Gripping the handlebars so tight his knuckles turned white, Keith felt the cold wind whipping against his face like little needles, bringing more tears to his eyes reflexively than were already spilling from the mix of tragic news he'd been pumped full of today. He had a very familiar road that he always went down when everything got too much for him- a long stretch of desert land, usually abandoned as far as the eye could see, leaving him to do whatever the hell he wanted as he drove recklessly. Not to mention the gas station that sold cheap, strong alcohol that he desperately needed right now.

By the time he reached that road, that long outstretch of empty land, he couldn't tell how long he had been driving or if he felt better or worse now than he did before. All he knew was the road in front of him and the alcohol he had yet to drink. All he knew was that he had nowhere to go but the open road unless he got desperate enough to turn to Zarkon. Shiro was already beginning to work his way through the mafia ranks. Maybe, if Keith was lucky, Shiro would take him out without even realising who he was.

He caught onto the thoughts before they spiralled and revved the accelerator, hoping that going faster would bring his focus back to the road and distract him successfully from the hell he had been through. The wind ran through his hair, pushing it back, Kosmo's tongue hanging out as he barked and bowled in the passenger seat, tail thumping excitedly.

It was an indeterminate amount of time before Keith pulled in at the aforementioned gas station, leaving Kosmo to sit in guard of his motorcycle after he refilled the tank and started inside. His mind was so blank that he couldn't even remember what he'd bought or how much it had cost, or even if he'd waited for change. He could only barely recall the memory of sliding money over the desk before he had turned and left.

He settled down on his seat, putting a couple bottles into the footwell of Kosmo's apartment, tearing open a packet of beef jerky and setting it on the floor of his compartment, letting Kosmo eat. He unscrewed the cap from his drink and drained a portion, barely registering the burning of his throat as he started to drive again, taking a sharp turn out of his parking space and beginning back down the road with a full tank and several full bottles. He sighed shakily, giving Kosmo a look from the corner of his eye before he brought the bottle back to his lips, speeding and drinking while he drove and going along that same long road. He just needed time to stop and to think but everything that his sober mind churned out was miserable and melodramatic and urged him toward suicide.

God, sometimes he was such a drama queen.

Eventually, this drive mixed into an incoherent blur of drinking and speeding up and slowing down and crying and cursing everything. It became the same dull mix of everything that the rest of the day had been. If he tried, he could possibly recall stopping off to vomit and letting Kosmo do his business but aside from that it was gone.

He couldn't recall how he had found himself in town yet again, a nearly empty bottle in one hand, speeding in between traffic and cutting through red lights. He could sometimes swear that he'd flipped off a speeding camera somewhere on his route but all he knew was that now he was in town, taking an all too familiar route down twisted and complicated quieter streets until he pulled up outside of a tall, prestigious building made of glass and steel, perfectly polished. A building he'd grown accustomed to hating. With his now empty bottle in one hand and a full bottle in the other, Keith stormed his way into the building and stomped his way to the front desk.

He looked down at the man sat there, gripping tighter to his bottle.  
"I'm going to Shiro's room," he said, his voice sharp, needing to get buzzed in every time that he wanted to come. The man sitting there, took one look over him and shook his head.

"Sorry," he said. "Mister Shirogane passed on the message to us last night that you're not to be allowed in the building, much less to his room. I'd have to ask you instead to leave."

But had Keith gone through all this and gone all this way to be 'asked to leave'? No. So he took the empty bottle and hit it against the edge of the desk, leaving him holding a sharp mass of broken glass by the neck of the bottle. He thrust it dangerously toward the man, gritting his teeth.  
"I'm going to Shiro's room," he said again. "Press the buzzer and let me in. I won't leave until I'm allowed to go there, no matter who you call or who tries to get rid of me."

One look into Keith's malicious eyes was all it would take to realise that he was serious.

He watched with a cautious eye as the man, who's hands and previously been lifted in a surrendering sort of position, slowly reached down to press the buzzer and let him through to the main lobby. Keith nodded, content, and muttered his thanks before turning and shoving through the door. He pushed his way through to the elevators next, punching in the buttons to go to the pent suite and slumping against the wall of the elevator as it began to ride steadily upwards. He flicked off the cap of his other bottle and brought it to his lips, having plenty of time to kill drinking while he waited to arrive on the top floor. Kosmo was stood next to him, panting happily, tail still wagging. God, how Keith envied his ability to last through anything. Blissfully unaware.

The door pinged as it opened and Keith, stumbling a little with drunkenness, began out of the elevator to get to Shiro's apartment- when a man, adorned in fancy clothes, took ahold of his arm.  
"I don't think you're supposed to be here," he had spat, looking down at Keith like he was a rat carrying the plague. Keith tried tugging his arm back but with his newfound sloppiness he didn't manage to pull free. He brandished his bottle, watching as the man instantly backed off now that he proved that he was dangerous. Now that he was the basket case, lost cause, violent kid that everyone always assumed he was.

"Get the fuck away from me!" he shouted, waving the bottle at him, threatening him by slashing at the air. "Keep your fucking distance! Or- Or I'll kill you! I'll stab you with this! Or- Or I'll burn your fucking house down! Get away from me!"

He took a step toward the man, shouting so loud that he was sure everyone could hear him but he didn't care. "Get away from me and get out of here or I swear I'll kill you for putting your fucking hands on me!"

But then another hand grasped onto Keith's shoulder, the hold firm but somehow familiar in a way Keith's drunken mind couldn't process. The hand released when Keith spun around to lash out with his bottle again, of course, but then it went to grab Keith's wrist and hold it back — the move instinctive and skillful. Another hand was at his shoulder, along with the familiar sound of metal gears as the fingers clenched, and Keith looked up to meet Shiro's wide, shocked gaze.

"Keith," he said tightly, his teeth grit hard. "What are you doing here?"

The door to Shiro's apartment had been left wide open in his hurry — Matt stood in front of it to keep the cats safely inside, his glare towards Keith heavy and burning. He heard Keith's shouting beneath the sound of the movie they had playing, and had instantly jumped into action. There was no thought process when he saw Keith in that hallway, brandishing his broken bottle towards the man who lived three doors down — panting, yelling, crying. Shiro just moved, grabbing a hold of his shoulder and then of his wrist when Keith tried to attack him.

"Get your stray under control, Takashi! For fucks sake!"

Shiro looked up at his neighbor, noticing the look of fear blazing in his eyes and the paled complexion of his face. He thought about arguing back, the snap about Keith not being his 'stray' resting on his tongue, but Shiro figured it would be pointless. Instead he muttered a quiet apology, and looked down at Keith before him.

He was a mess. Red in the face from crying and screaming. His bloodshot eyes glazed with intoxication and grief. He was even more pathetic than Shiro was... and Shiro couldn't tell why that unnerved him. Keith was weakly tugging on his hand, but Shiro didn't release him just yet, apprehensive. Instead he leaned forwards, speaking in a growling sort of whisper as if he hoped the man before them wouldn't hear.

"Keith, you shouldn't be here," he said, swallowing hard. "What are you doing? How... how did you even get in?"

"Threatened the man at the desk," Keith muttered, still trying to pull his hand back, refusing to look up and meet Shiro's eyes. "He said you banned me from coming in to see you."

He threw the broken bottle piece aside, no longer having a need for it if he didn't need to use force to get anywhere. He'd gotten to Shiro. That was what he wanted to do. He'd just wanted to talk to him again, feeling sick to his stomach from all of the shit that had gone on today. His eyes drifted from the floor back to Shiro, seeing the anger and frustration in those usually kind eyes. It almost felt helpless to be here. With the way Shiro looked at him, spoke to him, held onto his wrists like he was nothing but a threat, it definitely seemed helpless. At least now Shiro was looking at him the way every other snobby fucker in this building looked at him; like a problem. Like something that had to be dealt with, like a rat. He knew it was going to happen eventually.

But the second that he looked at Shiro, at that familiar face and those familiar eyes, he broke down sobbing. He wanted to wrap his arms around Shiro and clutch him and hide his face in his chest until everything went away but instead Shiro held his wrists tight and kept him an arms length away and let him stand there, sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks and watched the way his face contorted into an image of pure misery as those ugly little cries escaped him.

Shiro suddenly couldn't move. Keith's features, drunk or not, expressed such a state of broken sorrow it left Shiro speechless. He was frozen, stupefied in place — holding Keith's wrist and Keith's shoulder, watching the tears roll down Keith's face and the sobs rack his strangely fragile looking body. He felt torn between wanting to comfort the mess of a man before him and just wanting to turn him away — to turn away and leave back to his apartment to sleep. God, Shiro hadn't felt that tired since he had been pumped full of pain drugs. Seeing Keith in such a state exhausted him more than he cared to admit.

After a long moment or so, Shiro flicked his eyes back up to his neighbor — the man watching with a sort of disgusted curiosity, the same way one would look at a train crash and be unable to tear their gaze away. He swallowed hard, settling his eyes closed and offering a deep sort of sigh. His hand released Keith's wrist, and instead trailed to his shoulder. He nodded back towards the door of his apartment room, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Come on," he mumbled weakly, starting to pull Keith towards his apartment by his hold on Keith's shoulders. Shiro tried to ignore how the stare of his neighbor burned into his skin as the man walked briskly past them. He might have mumbled something about calling security, but Shiro couldn't bring himself to care. The only thing his sluggish mind told him was that he needed to get Keith out of that hallway. "Let's get you inside. You look like shit."

Keith let out a drunk, stumbling little laugh as he wiped his eyes.

"I feel like shit," he muttered, groaning in discomfort as he wiped his eyes, letting Shiro bring him into his apartment and past Matt, who looked at him like he was the scum of the earth- but he could handle that coming from Matt. He was used to that coming from Matt after this long spent being hated.

He was directed to the couch, slumping down, Kosmo coming in after him and jumping up onto the couch beside him, yapping a little in greeting, howling up at Shiro as if to say he'd missed him.

Keith hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face, hands curling into his hair and tugging at the roots as tears continued to spill down his cheeks and he broke down into more and more fragile little sobs. He could hear Matt muttering to Shiro- malicious little things, he assumed, about why they should abandon him, why he was a lost cause, why Shiro should never have opened the door.

Keith just wanted him to shut up for once.

Slowly, he managed to lift his head, his attention fixing on Black, who sniffed at him and meowed, hissing when Keith's hand moved to pet Black and rub behind her ear. He wasn't fazed. He didn't care if he got scratched or not. He didn't care about anything anymore, he had no reason to.

"Shiro," he managed to say, his voice an empty little whimper, his eyes still fixed on the cat that seemed to hate him. "Why... why did all this shit happen...? Why today? Why... why now?"

Shiro, who has been numbly listening to Matt's suggestion of calling he police, looked from the floor, where his stare had been trained upon the last few moments. He furrowed his brow a little, looking Keith's pathetic spot on his couch. It had taken him a moment to recognize what Keith had said, let alone try and figure out what it meant.

"Keith... if this is about that voicemail, I-"

His weak little murmur was cut off by Matt beside him.

"You called him?" he asked through a set of clenched teeth, eyes narrowed into slits behind the frames of his glasses. "Shiro, you told me you wouldn't!"

Shiro held up a hand, shaking his head a little, eyes settling down into that defeated close again. "I just called to tell him I didn't want to see him again," he said. His voice was too soft for his own comfort. Shiro cleared his throat a little before he went on. "He didn't pick up. I just left the message and blocked him... I didn't think he'd do this..."

He opened his eyes and looked back to Keith on the couch. "Keith, I told you I can't... I can't do this. You can't be here," he sighed tiredly. "You have money. If you need more I'll just give it to you but you have to go home."

"This isn't about your stupid, selfish fucking message!" Keith shouted, glaring up at Shiro. "None of that matters! It's great if you want to think that I'm a monster or that I'm not actually in love with you! I don't care! I'm here because I'm being fucking evicted and I found that out right after I found out that my mom might be dead! She's- She's gone missing- and- and she's probably dead! Stop thinking about yourself! Do you really think I would have come here this late if it was about the voicemail? I've been listening to that all day, I never once considered coming over and throwing a tantrum about it! But- but now I'm- I've got no family- I'm not... I'm not going to have a home..."

He curled up again, hiding his face behind his knees, pulling his hair out as he choked on his sobs and he wiped his eyes feverishly with his wrists to smear away his tears. He only forced himself to pull back to reach for his full bottle, bringing it to his lips and draining as much as he could stomach before his throat burned too badly and he broke away coughing.

"If you still don't want me here, just say so, but I haven't got anywhere to go and god knows I haven't got any friends. The best thing that could happen to me is getting a job in the stupid mafia you're trying to take down and even then I'd be wishing I were dead every second."

God, he wished he had the energy to care anymore. The energy to do anything but sit here and cry and curse himself for being so fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Shiro would care. Stupid enough to think his mom would come home. Stupid enough to think he'd be able to land on his feet and live any kind of a good life after all of this. He was so close to begging Shiro to forgive him, to let him stay, but all he'd do if he was turned away was drink and drive until it killed him.

He wiped his eyes, shaking as he tried to calm his breathing, hugging himself tighter and tighter like he was hoping to get so small he would disappear. He knew Shiro was probably going to turn him away. He knew Matt was probably telling Shiro to do worse. Turn him away but tip him off to the cops. Or just kill him there and then. In this hysteric state of mind he really didn't put it past him.

Shiro didn't have a chance to be offended by anything Keith had said — his whole system had lapsed in a fit of shock when Keith had said he had been evicted. The news about Keith's mother had hit him even harder. He hadn't expected anything like that to come out of Keith's mouth. It had taken him a second or so to even catch up, his shocked brain struggling to process every bit of Keith's yelling. When it had, however, Matt placing a hand on his arm didn't stop him from making his way over to the couch and easing down in front of Keith, sitting at the edge of the coffee table.

He forgot about himself. About his feelings. About the Galra and about the Red Flame. None of it mattered really. The only thing echoing through Shiro's mind was Keith's last little whimper.

Even then I'd be wishing I were dead every second.

"Keith," Shiro said quietly, his entire demeanor changed in an instant. His voice was gentle, but not in the same sad, tired sort of way from earlier. Now it was consoling. Supportive. It was impressive how quickly he had pushed his own emotions away so quickly — but Shiro didn't have time to mull over it. "Hey, it's okay. You can stay here, alright?"

"Shiro," Matt's voice warned in an enraged hiss from behind him. Shiro ignored it.

"Listen, Keith, it's okay," he said. "We'll... we'll figure this out. You can stay here for now. You and Kos, it's fine, I have the room. In the meantime I'll try to help pay off your house — I won't let you lose it."

Shiro didn't know what he was doing. Did Keith deserve that? After everything he had done to him? After using him? Wasn't that the only reason Keith had even gone to Shiro's apartment? To use him?

Shiro closed his eyes and shook his head a little, not letting himself tumble back down into that pit of rage from the night before. He couldn't afford to do that.

"Do you want something to eat? Maybe something to drink that isn't alcohol?"

Keith, despite his better judgement and the growling of his empty stomach, shook his head and curled up more. He didn't want anything. He just wanted to sit here until everything passed him by.  
"I'm fine," he mumbled weakly, shaking as he wiped his eyes and curled up a little more, struggling to stop his pathetic crying and trying to get himself to return to that comforting numb apathy that he'd come to rely on by now. He didn't want anything from Shiro if it would only get him accused of more and more things that could be used against him the next time that he fucked up.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten an actual meal, though, and he hadn't slept somewhere comfortable in what had to have been weeks and surely, if Shiro was offering, he was allowed to take him up on this offer and rest? To accept the help? Even if it had been offered to him time and time again, even after he'd made so many mistakes, surely he was allowed to do it just once more?

He dragged his gaze back up to Shiro, seeing the pity in his eyes but having no energy left to fight it.

"You hate me..." he mumbled, sounding almost defeated. "Why are you still helping me?"

Shiro was silent for a long time after that, just watching Keith watch him back. He didn't know if he had an answer for that. Shiro just trusted that he would know what to say by the time he parted his lips.

"I could never hate you, Keith."

He didn't have anything to follow that up with, so Shiro leaned off the table and got to his feet, giving Keith one last glance before turning. He started to head towards the kitchen, wanting to at least give Keith a glass of water so he could sober up some and stop crying, but Matt sidestepped in front of him, setting his hand on Shiro's chest.

His stare was hard. Concerned. Matt's head was cocked forwards, making him peer up at Shiro from shadow casted eyes. He gave a low sigh, and Shiro knew what was coming before he could even part his lips.

"Shiro, you can't let him do this to you again," he muttered, shaking his head. "His situation sucks, I know. But he hurt you and he's just going to do it again — don't let some drunk waterworks trick you, alright? For fucks sake- he almost shanked a guy with a broken bottle out there."

There was a long pause, Shiro's eyes drifting back to Keith on the couch. He couldn't doubt for a second that Keith had heard all of that — the moment Shiro met his gaze, he felt a guilty shiver dart down his spine. That chilling gleam of dread on Keith's eyes at the idea of Shiro kicking him out to nothing. Everything inside of Shiro told him he needed to soothe that fear. There was nothing more important than that. Nothing more important than making Keith feel safe...

He could hear Lotor telling him he was wrong. He could hear Matt telling him he was wrong. If he worried about it enough, he could even hear an old Keith tell him that he was wrong.

But, like always, Shiro didn't care.

"He stays, Matt," Shiro said very quietly.

"But Shiro-!"

"He stays, Matt." Shiro's voice was a little louder. A little sharper. There might have even been the slightest hint of an icy sort of tightness. "I promised his mother I'd look after him. He has nowhere else to go. He stays. End of discussion."

Matt stared at him, mouth curling down in the most sour of frowns — like he had just bitten down into a lemon. He didn't argue, though. He didn't try to stop Shiro, and instead stepped aside to let him pass. Shiro did, making his way back into the kitchen. He returned back to the living room with two bottled waters and a bag of saltine crackers — they were the only things he figured Keith's stomach could handle. He stepped past Matt again and made his way to Keith by the couch, setting the crackers down beside him and opening up one of the bottled waters.

"Drink this," Shiro said, not asking as he offered the water to him. "Your head is going to be hell tomorrow. This'll help a little bit."

Keith looked up at him, almost mustering up the courage to refuse before the soft concern in Shiro's eyes made the tears start again and he took his glass, starting to sip it between nibbling on the saltines. His eyes fixed back on the couch as he tried to stay zoned out, liking the dull emptiness of his mind when he wasn't using it too much. Hating how it felt to address where he was or who he was with or the malicious way Matt always spoke about him.

"Thanks," he said after a long little while of silence, unsure if Shiro could even hear him but not caring anymore.

His eyes flicked up, fixing on Matt for a moment before scanning around for Shiro- and even though he was there in the room, or somewhere in the apartment, and Keith was fully aware that he wouldn't be more than a minute away, with every passing second that he couldn't immediately see Shiro, or hear his voice, panic would start to settle in. He wasn't sure what caused it but just the idea of being here alone with Matt, or just the idea that Shiro might not come back, it made panic twist in his stomach and he began to shake, trembling as his hands clutched onto the couch for support.

"Shiro?" he called, though his voice felt so much weaker than he thought it would. Had Shiro left the room? When he knew Keith was in this kind of state? Keith needed him to come back. "Shiro?!"

"Woah, woah, Keith- I'm right here."

Shiro, who had gotten up to go find some blankets in the basket he kept behind the couch, quickly moved back into Keith's line of sight, a heavy quilt in hand. He made his way up to Keith's side, unconsciously settling a hand on Keith's shoulder — much more tentative and gentle than his harsh grab from before had been. He glanced down at the water and the half eaten crackers, and then back up again, flicking his eyes up to Matt before he spoke again, who was leaned against the far wall, his bitter stare turned towards the quiet television.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning down some to try and catch Keith's eyes. "What is it?"

Keith's eyes fixed onto him after a moment, hazy and out of focus but fixed on him.

"I thought you left," he mumbled absently, pawing at his eyes again. "Don't leave. I don't want you to leave." He wipes some cracker crumbs from around his mouth and sniffled, brows furrowing a little. "I'm sorry. I- I'm a mess and I've just dumped all of this... this shit on you," he whimpered. He moved one hand to grab Shiro's wrist, holding tighter to him, now beginning to tremble. "Don't leave me. Please."

He just didn't want to lose Shiro. He'd almost done it so many times before he had almost done it again. He couldn't handle that.

"Please... Not again..."

Shiro offered a gentle frown, his gaze fixed upon Keith's hand and how tightly it had been secured around his wrist. He just nodded his head, not really knowing what to say, and pushed the crackers to the side so he could sit down beside Keith on the couch -- still trapped by his vise-like grip. Shiro could smell the booze, the scent of alcohol heavy and sharp in his nose as he settled down in the cushions, close enough to feel Keith's warmth. He stiffened up a little, setting his jaw and turning his head away so he could look at anything else but Keith's tearstained face. Shiro didn't know why he felt so uncomfortable beside him -- whether it had to do with Keith being the Red Flame or not -- but there was no denying the atmosphere about him had changed.

"I won't leave you," Shiro said in a sigh, managing to drag his stare from one side of the floor to the other so he could at least look at Keith's feet. He tried to ignore the sharp scoff and bitter mumble from Matt across the room. "Don't worry... I'll be here. I'm going to take care of you."

Keith let the words process for a few moments in his drunk mind before a soft smile curled onto his lips- the first in hours. One hand moved to Shiro's cheek, gently cupping it, his fingers cold against the warmth of Shiro's face. He made Shiro look up at him, a small and weak smile appearing on his lips.  
"Please," he said, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. A little plead. A little demand. "Please do."

And one impulsive movement made Keith lean up, pressing their lips together. He definitely wasn't thinking any of this through, just wanting to press their lips together and feel the same loving, passionate sensation as their lips had shared when they slept together that night so long ago. Keith, eyes closed, pressed up closer to Shiro, pressing their lips together a little more impatiently as Shiro froze up against him, processing what was happening.

Shiro's lips were so warm against his. He hadn't realised how cold he was.

The warmth from Shiro's lips spread through him, flourishing through his chest with the same sensation of longing as he usually drowned out with cigarette after cigarette or excess amounts of drinks that was now sated, balanced out, with the sensation of fulfillment. He had Shiro. Shiro had him. And the warmth that flourished through him as he felt their lips press together was more compelling than nicotine. It burned more than alcohol. It felt warmer than the addictive sensation of fire licking away at his fingertips, though this time it was spread all through his chest and sent an unfamiliar yet welcome contentment settle through him.

But, god, the taste of mango chapstick and that same, familiar scent of coffee and vanilla was overpowering. It made Keith forget everything. It made him forget about every horrible thing going on in his life. All he ever needed from Shiro was the taste of his chapstick and the familiarity of his scent. All he ever needed was to be wrapped up in his firm embrace and told that he was loved, that he was going to be loved, and that Shiro was going to be there for him forever. He'd never wanted more.

A jolt of pure, electric shock passed through Shiro's system, the feeling not quite unlike the surprise he had felt all the months ago when Keith had kissed him upstairs in his room. Only that time, Shiro had pulled away once the initial stupefaction had died away... but right then and there, sitting beside each other on Shiro's living room couch, Shiro couldn't really bring himself pull back from Keith's lips. He had forgotten how nice they felt upon his in the time that had passed. He had certainly forgotten how much he wanted those lips on his after the catastrophe the night before -- it all just seemed to pummel him in that moment. All those months of yearning and of aching for something he figured he'd never taste again... and there it was. Salty from his tears and sharp with alcohol, but more satisfying than anything Shiro could imagine.

So he leaned in a little closer, and began to kiss Keith back.

"Jesus Christ- what the hell are you guys doing?!"

Shiro nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes shooting open wide as his system, once again, seemed to whirl in surprise. He leapt backwards, both hands flying to his lips as he whipped his guilty, wide eyed stare back over to Matt. Matt had been leaning off of the wall, his face contorted with a sort of flabbergasted disgust as he moved over to the sofa, as if he had the intent of splitting them up.

"I-... I didn't mean to-" Shiro spluttered.

Matt cut him off, voice a bit too sharp for Shiro's liking. He was looking right at Keith when he spoke, eyes narrowed, finger in the air and pointing hard at the drunk man on the couch. "No. No. You don't get to do that to him, you little bastard," he seemed to snarl.

Shiro's mouth fell open. "Matt! It wasn't his fa-"

"The hell it wasn't his fault, Shiro!" Matt cried, not even dignifying Shiro's meek attempt at defending Keith with a sideways glance. Instead, his focus remained on Keith, eyes blazing behind his glasses. "Yeah, you're a manipulative dick, I get it, but that? That? That was downright scumbag material and you know it. Get the fuck away from him."

Keith flinched back at the raised voice, the malicious tongue- something that he had never done before, especially not around Matt. He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know how he wanted to respond to these wild, insulting accusations and orders bordering threats. His hand fumbled to find Shiro, taking ahold of his forearm absently just as a way to keep hold of him.

"I wasn't... I wasn't trying to do anything!" Keith tried to argue, moving a little closer to Shiro like that would save him from receiving these harsh and cruel comments. Like Shiro would provide total protection and safety.

He looked at Matt, managing to force a glare as his hold on Shiro tightened, his hands shaking again. Just as soon as he began to calm down, someone like Matt had to ruin it. All the time.  
"Get away from me!" He was tempted to grab his bottle from the floor and swing it at Matt to attack him, to try and get back at him for the horrible things that he was saying.

"Really?" Matt asked, offering a harsh, sarcastic little scoff. "You weren't trying to do anything? You weren't trying to kiss away your fuck up? Or you weren't trying to show up like a lost dog at Shiro's door just so he'd take you in again?"

Shiro started to lean up, biting the inside of his cheek. "Matt..." he mumbled, flicking his stare from Matt to Keith and then back to Matt again. "It's fine-"

"It's not 'fine', Shiro," Matt snapped, shaking his head. "Keith is taking advantage of you. Again. He knows he broke your trust and the only way he thinks he can get it back is by pretending to care about you and it's not going to work. I'm not going to let it work. Not agai-"

Keith grabbed ahold of Matt's collar, learning in close with his grit teeth and his eyes suddenly full of such a strong sense of anger. When he spoke again, even if his words were slightly slurred with drunkenness, each word was harsh and sharp and impacted with exactly the level of malice Keith was aiming for.  
"Accuse me of whatever the fuck you want," he spat, his hold on Matt's collar tightening, his fist twisting to bunch up the fabric, making it uncomfortably tight around his neck. "But just because you don't think that I love Shiro doesn't mean that I'm a manipulative monster."

And Keith, well aware that this was taking it several steps too far, prepared himself for that final verbal punch as he met Matt's eyes, noticing the mix of fear and anger and being unable to bring himself to care.  
"It doesn't matter what you think. You've seen everything from Shiro but I'm the one who's seen him in bed." He shoved Matt back as if for that final bit of impact, letting the shock of the words catch him off guard and leave him vulnerable. He got to his feet, snatching the water, the crackers, and the bottle of booze before beginning to the door.  
"I'm going to... find somewhere to sleep," he muttered. "Don't come find me."

Shiro's blood turned to ice and his skin turned to fire both at the exact same time. He had to get over the striking collapse of embarrassment that flushed through his system quickly, though, so he could jump up and try to stop Keith from leaving. Matt stopped him first, however, sidestepping in front of him and placing both of his hands on Shiro's chest to hold him in place. Shiro started to call out to him -- maybe to at least ask Keith to leave the booze behind and to just drink his water instead -- but Matt muttered something to him about dropping it. Before they knew it, Keith was out of sight, Kosmo trailing happily by his heels. A few moments later a door from upstairs slammed shut -- one of the guest rooms, most likely. The cracking bang of the door against the doorframe rung apart the apartment for a moment or so, before the world descended into an awful sort of silence.

"What the hell did that mean?" Matt muttered after a while, looking up at Shiro. "Did you guys...?" He trailed off, like he couldn't even bear to say it.

Shiro just stared at him, red in the face. His thoughts whirled about in his head in the worst kind of way, every little emotion and every little feeling like nothing less of a mess. Shiro blinked, and then he frowned, and then he sighed, pushing past Matt and making his way across the living room. 

 

"Where are you going?" Matt called after him.

He was already at the stairs when he barked out his tensioned answer, the cats trailing at his heels. "To bed. Goodnight."

And without another word, Shiro stomped up the stairs, made his way to his room, held the door for the cats, and then slammed it. Hard. Just like Keith had done before.

And maybe it was around two in the morning before there was any other movement in the house, Matt sleeping on the couch in the living room, but sometime early in the night Keith, with an empty bottle of booze and an empty bottle of water, slumped down into the bed beside Shiro and contently nestled up into his chest, trembling against him as he let tiredness begin to take over again. He just wanted to make the most of this while he still had it, even if that meant drunkenly passing out against Shiro's chest just to listen to his heartbeat and feel his warmth.


	21. Tension Rising

Shiro woke up with an unfamiliar warmth pressed against his chest — an unfamiliar warmth wrapped around his torso and tangled up in his legs. He couldn't deny that he loved the feeling. He certainly couldn't deny that he hugged the presence a little closer when he first began to wake up, eyes still settled into a comfortable close as he embraced the comfortable feeling. He didn't even realize who it was that he'd been cuddling until the scent of alcohol and smoke tickled his nose.

His eyes fluttered open, and then flicked down to the man pressed into his chest and held in his arms. Shiro was hit with a wave of instant confusion — he didn't quite remember letting Keith into his room the night before. All he remembered was storming up to his room, angry, and then curling up beneath his covers to try and sleep off his emotion. Judging by the stiff puffiness of his eyes and the dry scratch of his throat, he might have cried a little — in his sleep, maybe.

Shiro gave a gentle sigh and attempted to clear his throat, careful not to wake Keith. He looked around to see if there had been a glass of water anywhere, but all he noticed was an empty bottle of booze laying on the bed beside Keith. Shiro frowned, flicking his gaze down to Keith is his arms. His face was red and puffy, pale beneath the flush of irritation with his hangover. Shiro was sure he'd be suffering the moment he woke up — he just hoped Keith wouldn't get sick in his bed.

He started to push up, relaxing his hold on Keith and gently easing him back down into the bed. Once he was leaned up a little more, Shiro reached down to tuck a strand of Keith's hair from his sleeping face, his touch lingering as it graced against the curve of Keith's cheek. Shiro didn't know how he felt in that moment. All he really could feel was his own confusion. Did he hate Keith? Did he love him? Did he forgive him? Already? Shiro couldn't quite answer most of those questions. The only reason he could answer at least one of them was because he had said it the night before.

I could never hate you, Keith.

He supposed it was true. Any trace of bitter hatred he might have felt in the spur of his devastated rage had left him — it had all drained away. But did that mean that Shiro still loved him? The question hurt his head just as much as it hurt his heart. There was no denying the feeling of pure adoration warming his chest at the sight of Keith laying before him, Shiro's definition of true beauty even with the exhausted bags and the red streaked face and the smell of whisky simply wafting from him with each breath. But there was also that slight, piercing burn that laced his stomach whenever Shiro would close his eyes and see the smoke covered face of Keith just seconds after he had unmasked him. That stabbing feeling that twisted in his gut whenever he would catch a smell of that smoke. The sinking of dread in his heart whenever he'd remember exactly who Keith had been working for.

Who Keith had been killing for.

Shiro closed his eyes and slowly pulled his hand away from Keith's sleeping face, trying hard to pretend he didn't feel the acid flush through his system at the idea. He supposed that's what hurt the most beneath everything. The lying had stung and the betrayal had burned but... the idea that Keith would work for such people without a care? Work for the same people who killed Shiro's parents? And have the nerve to say he enjoyed it, above all else?

The idea just made Shiro sick to his stomach.

He turned around and slipped off the bed, making his way over to his laptop that had been set on his desk, plucking it up and settling down in the chair that started all of his confusion. The chair Keith had given him that massage him. The chair Keith had first kissed him in. Shiro settled back into it, trying to keep his skin from crawling as he opened up his laptop to work — hopping into his emails without even eating or brushing his teeth first.

He just needed to distract himself... at least until Keith woke up. Then he would help Keith sober up as best as he could, and then he'd take him downstairs so they could all sit with Matt and have some sort of serious discussion. Talk about what to do. Where to go from there. Lay down some rules for Keith, maybe.

Shiro wasn't very excited for that part.

It was barely an hour before Keith was waking up, slowly blinking his eyes open only to groan loudly in pain in response to the bright lights and his pounding head. He didn't process where he was for a few moments, too busy trying to tame the thrumming of his skull and the rapid pounding of his heart.  
"Fuck," he spat, pushing himself up just a little. He noted his surroundings with a growing dread- but didn't get to address any of it before he flung himself off of the bed and over to Shiro's ensuite.

And, shortly after the door swung closed, there was the sound of horrendous vomiting as he coughed and vomited up all of the alcohol that he'd been dumb enough to drink the night before. He didn't leave the bathroom for ten minutes after he was done vomiting, though the rustling around and the sound of cupboards opening and closing made it increasingly clear that he'd gotten himself a drink and a dose of painkillers to soothe his headache.

He lifted his head to look at the mirror, seeing the puffy-eyed, tearful face staring back at him and groaning. He tried taming his hair with Shiro's comb and then tried washing his face before he left the bathroom, looking at Shiro sitting in his desk. He pushed the door shut behind him with his foot.  
"I'm gonna be honest," he said, though his voice was scratchy and, god, his throat burned. "I have no fucking clue what happened last night. I... one minute, I was at a gas station, and now... this. Would you, uh, mind enlightening me? Before, I imagine, I'm kicked out?"

Shiro looked at him, eyes growing a little wide. He hadn't expected Keith to forget so much — of course some memory loss what expected but... Shiro didn't think that Keith would forget everything. Threatening those people. Sobbing to Shiro about his mother.

Kissing Shiro.

"Oh... you, uh... really don't remember anything?" Shiro asked, flicking his gaze back down to his computer. "Matt and I were watching a movie and I heard shouting. You were threatening one of my neighbors with a broken bottle — I grabbed you and told you to come inside. Then you started crying and said some things about your house and your... your mom..." Shiro trailed off, teetering on the edge of being awkward. His voice had dipped with pure pity and he couldn't stand it — he knew what it felt like to be pitied in such a way. To put Keith through the same treatment made his skin simply crawl.

He closed his eyes and shook his head a little bit. "I told you that you could stay for as long as you need. That I'd take care of the house for you. Then you started crying again and you... uh... might have kissed me a little." Shiro squeezed his eyes a little tighter, willing himself to keep from seeing Keith's reaction. "Then Matt yelled at you and you snapped back and then we all went to bed. Then I woke up and you were... in here for some reason. That's the basic rundown of everything, I guess."

Shiro opened his eyes and rolled his shoulders a bit before turning back to Keith. "I'm not going to kick you out, Keith," he said, sighing a little. "But there are definitely things we have to talk about, okay? I'm not mad and I'm not going to yell but... we really do have to talk."

Keith looked at him, then glanced at the closed door and moved to slump down on the bed.

"Fine," he said, sinking into the plush mattress. "As long as Matt doesn't come in here, I'm fine. We can talk about whatever. And, uh, yeah. The kissing does ring a bell or two. Seems like I, uh, had no problems when it came to remembering the important things."

Yeah. That definitely brought back more than enough memories. Hell, if he thought about it long enough he could remember the taste of Shiro's lips on his own or the way that it had made him feel to lose all of his problems to Shiro's comfort. He didn't dwell on it, though, not wanting to get too caught up in it if Shiro told him that he couldn't do anything like that again. Rule number one: Keith can't put his tongue near any billionaires.

He sighed, putting his head in his hands.  
"I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have come but..." thinking of his mom made his stomach twist with guilt. Everything would be the same without her, just less paychecks and nothing to look forward to. He just wouldn't expect any letters or to have her come home. All the work he'd done on the house would have been irrelevant even if he'd been able to keep it- he'd only done it so that she could have a nice place to come back to. The thought of her, though... the idea that she might be gone... a sharp pang of sorrow twisted in his gut and he choked back a pained sob, not wanting to cry over this again. Not wanting to let himself cry again. Not wanting to put Shiro through that again. "I really thought she was coming home. She was about to resign, Shiro. She was done, ready to come home. And then just... missing. Presumed dead. And all I get is that and 'Any more details will be disclosed to me' bullshit. I..." he trailed off, biting his bottom lip as tears welled up again, quickly rubbing them away with his sleeve. "It's not important."

Shiro's features softened a bit, and he turned around in his chair, facing Keith and leaning forwards. "Hey, it is important," he said quietly, watching as Keith wiped at his teary eyes. "We'll keep the phones close and your email open in case anything is updated. If you want I can try to call and see if they'll send any verbal updates here until you can go home again. There's still a chance she could be... there's still a chance, okay? Don't give up hope yet."

He sat up a little straighter in his chair, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck as the atmosphere awkwardly settled around the last of his words. "It's, uh, alright. That you came here, I mean," Shiro mumbled, some blush rising up in his cheeks. "It would have been better if you weren't drunk, and if you didn't try to fight some business man with a broken bottle in the hallway... but I'm not mad or anything, I guess... you needed somewhere to go and I... here is your somewhere, I guess."

Shiro's hand moved from the back of his neck to his face to rub at his tired eyes for a moment or two. He couldn't quite believe what he was considering to say... but before he could stop himself, the words simply slipped from his lips.

"I'm sorry for leaving that message. It was selfish of me," he said very quietly, trying hard to pretend he didn't hear Lotor's warnings and advice from those few months ago ringing in his head. "I was just... confused, I guess. Angry. There were things I should have considered that I didn't. But that doesn't meant that I... that I completely forgive you. Or that I'm not upset, I guess. This whole situation is just one hell of a mess." Shiro couldn't help but snort and empty huff of laughter, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little bit. "And that's an understatement."

"I... shit, man, I should have told you about so much shit sooner," Keith said, that being the beginning of his own kind of an apology. "How was I meant to bring any of it up to you? To tell you I was offered a job as an exterminator by a mafia? To tell you I couldn't really get out of it after accepting because I was told my mom could be in danger? I just... I had a lot going on. I didn't- I don't- want to rely on you for everything, even if you offer, but I agreed to a job before I knew anything about the organisation or the details and you know where that got me."

 

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, glancing around Shiro's room.  
"I know the answer is going to be a hard no but have you got something I could drink? My nerves are really acting up and I need something to calm me down a little. Just- just like one shot. Or one glass of something strong." He couldn't stand being so sober. He hadn't totally slept off what he'd drunk the night before but such a sobering conversation- and so much vomiting- had definitely done a number on how he felt and he desperately wanted to stop being so jittery. What could he turn to if not alcohol?

Shiro looked at him for a long moment or so, eyebrows raised high on his head. "There is no way in hell I'm giving you anything alcoholic to drink. Not after last night," he said, voice a little more stern than before. Shiro turned back to his laptop, ducking his head a little, lips curled into a slight frown. "I'm not upset because you took the job, Keith. I'm upset because you said you enjoyed it."

He stood up from his chair, setting a hand on his laptop and pushing it to a close. He looked back up, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes tugging at the corners of his lips. Shiro spoke again before Keith could respond to the rather heavy silence Shiro had thrown the room into.

"I won't get you booze, but I have hot chocolate -- I'll make you a cup, alright? I need a cup of coffee, anyways." Shiro's voice was back to normal, no longer stern and no longer bordering on bitter. He could already tell from the way Keith had been looking at him that the next few days were going to be a bit rough, especially with whatever 'ground rules' he hoped to set. Shiro just hoped Keith would work with him, and that promises of chocolate drinks and maybe more food would help keep Keith from getting too angry at him. "Anything else you want me to get?"

"Uh, you know the Reese's cups you get? Can you get me some of them?" he asked, shifting a little with his own discomfort, trying to fix his gaze on anything but Shiro's gaze, already just a little more uncomfortable from the one negative tone Shiro had taken with him. He rubbed his arm a little, his eyes dragging around the place. "But don't be gone for too long." He paused a moment, forcing a grin and a joking hint to his voice as he added "I might get bored and snoop through your emails."

Just to make it seem like he didn't care that much.

Somehow, Shiro managed to smile back, his eyes flicking over to the laptop on his desk. "Well, at least you won't find anything exciting," he said, smirking a little before he turned back around. "I'll get the peanut butter cups and the hot chocolate. I'm also going to check on your dog. If he messed up my guest room because you left him alone, you're cleaning up his mess." His voice was more lighthearted as he stepped outside of his room, mood somehow lifted by the familiarity of their joking.

With that little sparkle of hope buzzing in his system, Shiro crept downstairs, quiet as to keep from waking Matt in the living room as he slipped his way into the kitchen. While he silently dug out the things needed to make Keith's hot chocolate, however, a very awake Matt stumbled upstairs, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his eyes groggily narrowed as he made his way up to Shiro's room with the intent of apologizing. In all honesty, he didn't really know what he was going to say to Shiro when he got up there, but he made the trek anyways. Shiro stomping away from him the night before didn't sit very well -- even while tired and glazed over with his long, restless sleep, Matt couldn't deny the guilt of the night before burning in his chest.

Wary of waking Keith up, wherever he might have been, Matt tiptoed to Shiro's room, reaching his hand up and lightly tapping on the wood of the door in a tentative little knock. "Shiro?" he called in a hushed tone, ducking his head a little bit. "Hey, man, are you up? I just want to talk a little bit. Maybe apologize for how things went last night."

Keith tensed quite a bit when he heard Matt's voice and his knocking, gritting his teeth a little. Matt was asking for Shiro, having just missed him. Did Keith have to say something? What options did he have? Going to Matt and saying that Shiro was downstairs getting him a hot chocolate or just ignoring him? Honestly, ignoring him did sound a lot better than having to face him right now... but might also get him punched.

When silence followed. After a few moments of waiting, Matt knocked a little louder. "Shiro? Come on, sleepyhead. Open up." He cracked a smile, cocking his head and reaching a hand up to push his glasses up a little higher on the bridge of his nose. "You can act as mad as you want, but I'm not leaving until you open the door, man."

But Matt insisted. Typical.

Instead of ignoring him, as he so desperately wanted to, Keith just looked at the door over his shoulder and called out "Shiro isn't in here!" instead, deciding that that was the safest approach and the one that was the least likely to get him shouted at. "He's gone downstairs!" Was an addition that he deemed safe, getting to his feet and starting toward the door just in case Matt suddenly wanted to talk directly to him or in case Matt came charging in- so he didn't look too comfortable on Shiro's bed. He even fixed his shirt a little to make it clear that he hadn't done anything with Shiro. He didn't want to risk further fucking up his already weak relationship with Matt by implying that they'd done anything.

 

Oh, he really had no idea of what he'd said the night before.

Matt's eyes widened a little, and before he knew it he was pulling open Shiro's door -- wondering why he was surprised to see Keith standing up in the middle of the room, smoothing out his shirt. Matt blinked, looking Keith up and down as he moved his way into Shiro's room, pulling the door to a close behind him. He looked like shit, but there was no doubt he had sobered up -- Matt's freshly energized system could figure out that much. He doubted the little bastard even remembered the night before... otherwise Matt would have pinned him against the wall and asked for an explanation.

His blood was already beginning to boil at the idea of Keith possibly kissing Shiro again. He knew whatever conversation they were about to have was going to go south rather quickly. Unfortunately, Matt couldn't brew up the mind to care.

"What are you doing in his room?" he asked icily. "I was just downstairs. I didn't see Shiro. What's he doing?"

"Well he just went downstairs, so you must have just missed him. He's gone to get a hot chocolate and some coffee. And I'm in here because I wanted to talk to him and he wanted to talk to me, alright? You don't own Shiro, you don't need to check up on him and make sure he's doing responsible things." He folded his arms over his chest, closing himself off from Matt, turning his attention to the wall instead of focusing on him any longer.

God, he forgot how much he couldn't stand Matt.

"Anyway," Keith cut in before Matt could interrogate him more, "what did you do, mister perfect, if you were here to apologise? I thought you were so totally perfect compared to me. Evidently not if you came here to apologise to me but I was just getting an apology from Shiro." God, Keith wished he knew when to shut up. If he'd stopped talking just before calling Matt 'mister perfect' maybe their conversation wouldn't have turned to sour so quick.

Matt furrowed his brow a little. "You came to get an apology from Shiro?" he asked, voice nearing a snarl as he cocked his head to the side. "I was coming up here to apologize for how I reacted when you just went ahead and blurted out that you and Shiro had sex! And now you have the nerve to tell me I think I'm that much better than you?"

Keith flushed a very dark shade of red, cursing himself for bringing that up even while drunk, but couldn't get out a word to argue. Matt raised a hand and pointed his finger at Keith, eyes narrowed into slits. "Well I don't think I'm better than you, Keith. I know I am," he snapped. "You do all this shit to someone you claim to love, and then you get drunk, show up at his door like a kicked puppy, and then make a fool out of him in front of me? You're a scumbag, Keith, and I can't wait until Shiro realizes it."

Keith grit his teeth.

"At least I can admit that I'm scum," he spat. "But you're a monster and you'd need to dismount your high, high horse before you even admitted that you make mistakes. How's the view from up there? Or do you want to get your head out of your ass before you can actually tell me?" Keith took a slight step forward, shoving Matt's shoulder in a stupid decision to begin escalating things that he definitely didn't think through. "The only decent person in this house is Shiro, and he's clearly blind to every kind of shittiness or he would have left you in the dust with a bag of weed years ago, you fucking druggie! I might be shit but at least I don't turn to drugs to solve all my problems! Alcohol is bad but imagine relying on weed! It's fucking pathetic!"

Matt's eyes flashed with pained anger. He stepped forwards, hoping Keith would push him again so he had a real excuse to fight back. "I'm pathetic? Me? You're nothing but an asshole who only cares about himself and his stupid fucking sob story!" Matt cried through clenched teeth. "At first I felt bad about your dad dying and your mom going fucking missing or whatever, but maybe that's what you deserve. Maybe you deserve to be alone. You know what? Maybe your mom isn't missing. Maybe she ran away because she didn't want to come home to your flaming garbage pile of a personality!"

For just a moment, there was a flash of hurt across Keith's face. He paled. Eyes widening, beginning to burn with the hint of giving tears- before his lips curled and he grit his teeth, swinging a harsh and direct punch at Matt, catching him straight across the jaw.  
"You're a fucking monster!" he shouted, his voice full of pure rage and malice as he shoved Matt, who was still reeling back with the punch. He didn't even give him time to react, nor to process the impact, before he swung his fist into Matt's stomach hard. Matt stumbled backwards, clutching his stomach, and fell to the ground, coughing and wheezing from the second punch.

Then he took half a step back, his trembling shoulders heaving with every heavy breath. He was shaking, anger and sadness sending violent rushes of emotion through his body. He wanted to punch Matt until he was nothing but a bloody and bruised, broken mess.   
"Get the fuck out of my sight!" he shouted at Matt. "I've beaten the shit out of Shiro with a mask and a broken wrist, so you'd better get the fuck out of here before I kill you with my own two hands!"

Matt looked up at Keith, scowling darkly as though he didn't take Keith and his threats seriously. He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood before dragging the back of his hand across his lips. He was just beginning to sit up, reading himself for a fight, but before Matt could even think to part his lips and say whatever seething insult he had ready on his tongue, the door behind them burst open, and both Keith and Matt's gazes were drawn back to Shiro's shocked face in the doorway. He must have heard the yelling from downstairs -- the coffee and the chocolates were nowhere to be seen.

Shiro's eyes first found Matt and his bloody lip on the floor, and then they flicked up to see the huffing, snarling Keith standing over him, his hands balled into fists at his sides. His knuckles bruised and bloody already.

Matt began his spluttered explanation from the floor, but Shiro held up a hand, stopping him mid sentence with it before he brought his fingers up to the bridge of his nose, pinching it as though he had a migraine. The room descended into a heavy silence, the only sounds the pants that rolled from Keith's lips and the awkward shuffle of Matt sitting up on the floor. They waited for Shiro to say something -- anything. The silence was downright unnerving.

"What the hell, you two?" he finally muttered, shaking his head. "I go downstairs for three fucking minutes..."

Matt spoke up first. "Wait, are you mad at me t-?" he started, furrowing his brow. Keith almost had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. 'Mister perfect'.

Shiro cut him off with a tight sort of shout. "I'm mad at the both of you!" he snapped, finally looking up. He flicked a hard stare to Matt, and then back up to Keith, pinning it there for a second before he averted his gaze again -- this time to the wall. He shook his head a little, his hand retiring to his temple, rubbing at his headache. "Disappointed, actually. Disappointed in the both of you. Does someone want to tell me what the hell happened?"

Keith looked up at Shiro, having met his eyes for just a moment and he felt the anger just flood out of him. It left in an instant, replaced by raw and unfiltered sorrow. Remorse. Grieving.

"Matt said," he began, though he had to pause because his voice began to shake as tears began to gather in his eyes. He rubbed his eyes on his sleeves quickly, though, trying to get rid of them before Matt could see them. "Matt said I deserved to have my parents die and that my mom probably ran away because she didn't want to put up with me."

This time when he spoke, he spat every word, pouring malice into every little part of his voice to try and cover up the shakiness, to try and stop himself from being so clearly upset by it.   
"I told him he was a druggie and a shit person and he decided to respond by telling me I deserved to be orphaned because I was a shit person." He shrugged a little, bringing his shoulders up and folding his arms over his chest. "It's not important. This is why I said you should kick me out. You know that I don't belong here. You know that all I cause is problems. Why the fuck did you let me stay?"

He glanced back at the bed but there was nothing in here for him to collect. He hadn't brought anything but alcohol and Kosmo when he'd come over, after all.

 

He didn't bring his gaze to meet Shiro's, shrugging a little and rubbing his arm. He saw Shiro parting his lips to speak but cut him off before he could, his words firm and decisive.  
"I'll leave." He didn't dare look at Matt, sure that he had the most smug fucking look on his face. Sure that the news of Keith admitting defeat like this would have him over the fucking moon. "Just- you said it yourself that it would have been better if we'd never seen each other again so I'll just leave. I think that that's a perfect way to end this."

Shiro's shoulders relaxed a little, his posture sumping a bit and some of the tensioned anger leaving his features. He shook his head a little, stepping forwards and closing the bedroom door behind him, his free hand out and his fingers splayed open. "No- no, Keith, you're not leaving. What I said... I... I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it, alright?" Shiro made his way towards Matt, standing beside him and pointing towards the bed. "Just sit down on the bed. Relax a little. We're going to... we're going to sort this all out."

Once Keith, even with his scowl and his argumentative stares, settled down on the edge of the bed, Shiro held a hand out for Matt to take, hoisting his friend up to his feet and then reaching his prosthetic up to observe his busted lip. It had swollen, and a fine layer of blood still coated his lips and teeth, but other than that it seemed okay. Shiro took his hand from Matt's face and pointed towards the master bathroom.

"Go get yourself cleaned up and then come right back in here, alright?"

Matt frowned at him, eyes drifting back to Keith on the bed. "But Shiro-"

"Just do what I asked, Matt." Shiro's voice bordered stern again -- it seemed to shut Matt right up. "When you get back in here take a seat."

A few minutes later, after Matt had washed away the blood from his lip and, following Shiro's instructions, settled back down into the office chair. Shiro, still standing looked at the two of his friends, offering a soft sigh and one final rub to his temples before he could even think to begin.

"Whatever... whatever the hell happened between you two, I need you to drop it. Right now," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest and lifting his head a bit, looking back and forth between the both of them to catch their guilty eyes. "I don't mean what just happened. I mean what happened a few months ago. Somewhere around the time I was in the hospital. I get it if you two hate each other, fine. You can hate each other all you want -- just not under this roof. Not while Keith's mother is missing. Not while we're dealing with taking down a God damn mafia. There's too much on our plates to be acting like idiots in high school, alright?"

Shiro turned to Matt, narrowing his eyes. "Matt, stop egging Keith on. Stop trying to get a rise out of him. Stop shooting him dirty glares. Stop acting like you're my concerned father trying to keep me away from some baddie boyfriend in some cheesy highschool flick." Matt parted his lips to argue, but Shiro cut him off again -- this time before he could start. "I understand you're trying to protect me. I get that you don't want me to get hurt again. You're being a good friend and I love you for that, but if what Keith told me is right and you really said any those things to him... that's unacceptable. There was no need for that. Got it?"

Matt looked at him for a long handful of moments, but then managed to offer a weak sort of nod. 

Shiro's lips quirked just the tiniest bit into a smile, but he let it fade when he turned his attention to Keith.

"Keith," he started, voice still stern but just the slightest bit softer. "You... you have to get that temper under control. You can't keep doing this. Yeah, what Matt said was... completely out of line, but I'm not just talking about that. You get so angry. You break bottles and you threaten people. You were ruthless whenever I'd say something that set you off when we would fight. I understand that emotions are hard things to control, and with everything this life has given you, you have every right to be angry, Keith. No one understands that better than I do. But you can't let it keep controlling you like this. You're stronger than that, Keith. I know you are. You are so much more than just some wild force of unchecked rage and trauma. You're more than the villain you paint yourself to be. I didn't fall in love with the Red Flame. I fell in love with Keith Kogane. Remember that."

Shiro looked away from him, a bit wary to see how Keith would react even in his moment of responsibility. He shifted his weight a bit, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat to try and toughen up his tone a little bit more.

"So that's that. No more fighting. No more arguing. At least not in this apartment. If nothing I said sticks and you won't do it for me, then just please do it for the cats. They're scared of yelling." He flicked one final glance between the two of them again. "Got it?"

Matt nodded. His voice was quiet and guilty when he spoke. "Yeah. Got it."

The room fell silent as Shiro patiently awaited an answer from Keith.

Shrugging his shoulders, keeping his head down so neither or them could see his face, Keith gave a defeated murmur of "Got it."

He shifted a little, uncomfortable, before he got up and pushed past Shiro to get to the ensuite, shutting the door behind him. He slumped against it, his eyes fluttering closed, sliding to his knees and hiding his face behind his arms as the dam broke. Showing anger was so much easier than showing vulnerability. That was simple. That was easy. He'd done it all of his life, for fucks sake, he should be more than used to the wave of emotion that always hit when the anger faded.

But Matt's words had stung. Matt hadn't just 'crossed a line' as Shiro put it so delicately, he'd crossed several lines and set fire to them and verbally kicked Keith in the nuts. There was no sympathy for him from Matt- he was fine with that- but... but even the implication that he'd done something to deserve the life he'd gotten was disgusting.

His eyes burned and tears began to well up, just thinking over the same comments. 'Maybe that's what you deserve. Maybe you deserve to be alone.' He already knew that much, he'd told himself that so many times the day before while that fucking voicemail played again and again. But that wasn't the part that had set him off. It had hurt, yeah, but that wasn't the part that made him punch Matt. That wasn't the part that cut so deep that made him threaten to kill Matt. That wasn't what Matt said that made Keith genuinely want spilled blood.

'You know what? Maybe your mom isn't missing. Maybe she ran away because she didn't want to come home to your flaming garbage pile of a personality!'

That was what made the tears roll down his cheeks and his breath catch, shaking. That was what made him want to slam his head into a wall until everything went black. That was what made him want to beat the shit out of Matt until he had a corpse underneath him instead. And no matter what Shiro said or insisted, that kind of bloodlust around Matt probably wouldn't go away for a while after such a malicious remark. That kind of pure hatred and disgust definitely wouldn't leave for a long time. He knew Matt only felt bad because Shiro had known he'd said it.

And before he knew it he had one hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his sobs as he broke down, curling up into a ball with his knees to his chest like that would do anything to provide comfort. Now he really did wish he'd had something to drink, or at least that fucking hot chocolate he was promised. Anything would have been appreciated right now.

A few moments later, however, there came a gentle knock. Shiro leaned close, his knuckles still laid against the wood of the door, his voice inhumanly delicate when he spoke out from behind it.

"Hey, Keith. I sent Matt downstairs. It's just me, okay?" He closed his eyes and listen hard, listening to the stifled sobs and the labored breathing from just past the thin bathroom door separating them. A flush a guilt sizzled through him, but Shiro ignored it, biting back a quiet sigh and willing himself to shoot his shot.

"I... If you need anything, I can help," he murmured, sure he was just going to be told to fuck off or something of the sort. "If you just want to be alone that's fine too. But I'm, uh, right here if you need me. Right outside the door in the bedroom. I won't leave you, okay?"

Keith didn't respond for a long while, but instead shuffled away from the door and soon unclicked the lock of the door, pushing it open and latching his arms around Shiro as he let himself break down fully, letting himself collapse into sobs against Shiro, trusting Shiro to look after him. His hold didn't loosen, his need for closeness and comfort overwhelming his dignity and letting him shamelessly latch onto the one source of comfort he had.

He hid his face in Shiro's neck, tears staining his shirt, not even checking to see if Matt was still in there, trusting that Shiro had gotten him to leave and that he wouldn't lie about that. Trusting Shiro far more than he had before- while sober, anyway.  
"Can I have that hot chocolate?" he asked though his voice was shaky and his head was like white noise. He just needed some time to relax. To stop letting out these pathetic tears. "And Kosmo? I need him, too..."

Shiro, still a little dazed from the hug and the tears — the very sober tears — offered a slow nod, his arms gently wrapped back around Keith, his hand rubbing slow circles in the space between Keith's shoulders.

"Of course," he said, swallowing hard. Despite Keith's requests, Shiro didn't feel his desperate hug loosen around his chest. He reached one of his hands up from Keith's back and pushed it into his hair, delicately combing through the tangled locks, still messy from the night before. "I might have to heat it up again. Unless you want, like, warm chocolate instead of hot chocolate..." Shiro trailed off, figuring the input wasn't important.

He shook his head a little, bringing his hands back down to Keith's arms. "I'll go take care of it," he said. "Just... let go and I'll be like five minutes."

Keith hesitated but released his hold on Shiro, slowly managing to pry himself away from Shiro and shifting back. He wrapped his arms around himself after a moment, though, taking affection from himself instead. "Don't be gone for too long," he said again. It seemed to be something he said often around Shiro. "Please. And don't let Matt come up here. I might punch him again if he sees me like this."

He didn't know if he was joking or not.

Shiro suppressed his worried cringe with a smile, and nodded his head a little. "Yeah, of course," he said, deciding to take Keith's final mutter as a joke. "Just go ahead and sit down on the bed and relax. I'll be back in a second."

With that, Shiro slipped through the door, first making his way downstairs to try and find the hot chocolate and the candy that he had set down earlier when he heard the shouting. Shiro scooped everything up into his arms — a cup of hot chocolate and another cup of black coffee, and a baggie of peanut butter cups — keeping quiet to avoid attracting Matt. Then he trekked back upstairs, making his way past his own room and to the guest room where Kosmo had been kept in since the night before. Shiro closed his eyes and prepared himself for a headache inducing mess inside of his guest room, and awkwardly opened up the door with his nearly full hands.

Kosmo bursted out into the hall in a flash of fur and pants, running around in an excited circle before bounding up to Shiro, who was offering the scratched up door and the scattered pillow stuffing of one of his favorite guest rooms a sour sort of pout. He leapt up, front paws nearly spilling Keith's warm drink all over Shiro, but Shiro pressed his knee into Kosmo's chest and told him in a hushed voice to calm down. Once Kos stopped his playful attacking, Shiro, still a little bitter about his room, turned and made his way to the bedroom, Kosmo following excitedly on his heels. Somehow he made it to Keith without spilling his hot chocolate or the coffee, closing his bedroom door behind him and the wild Kosmo with his foot. Shiro watched with a frown as Kosmo ran up to Shiro's bed and leapt up onto it without stopping, keeping a nervous eye on his pillows as he moved towards his desk to set the drinks down.

"Well, the bad news is a need a new door for the guest room," Shiro said to Keith, taking a much needed sip of his coffee, his free hand waving Keith over. "The good news is I never really liked the pillows of that guest room, and now I get to go shopping for new ones."

Keith let out a soft little laugh, holding his arms out for Kosmo, who happily cuddled up to him and let out an excited little howl.  
"I swear, I've been trying to train him out of scratching doors." Keith reached out to take his drink, letting Kosmo sniff at the cup before he began to drink from it, letting out a soft noise of content. "Shit, Shiro, I forgot how good your hot chocolates taste," he mumbled. "I should have gotten one of these last night instead of... however much I fucking drank. And- uh, sorry about the guest room. Kosmo is also sorry." he set down his cup to grab Kosmo's face, making the dog look over at Shiro. "See? Sorriest face you'll ever see. Kosmo, bark if you're sorry." Kosmo tugged his head away from Keith's hands with a triumphant bark and Keith brandished a proud smile. "See?"

He wiped his eyes again, having stopped his crying, and pushed a Reese's into his mouth before he took ahold of his hot chocolate again.  
"Thanks," he mumbled. "This is going to be a lifesaver."

Shiro nodded, taking another long sip of his coffee. "It's no problem," he said, still a little upset about the guest room but mostly uplifted by the slow brightening of the atmosphere. "Also I forgive Kosmo — no need to worry." Shiro looked down and smiled a little at the panting dog, most of his previous bitterness having been eased away at the cute lolling of Kosmo's tongue. "Dogs will be dogs, I guess."

He reached for one of the peanut butter cups, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth — figuring just one wouldn't hurt his diet. Shiro looked back up to Keith, trying not to let himself frown at the red nature of his cheeks and his eyes. He wished he could take all of that away — all of that discomfort and embarrassment. To settle his touch down on Keith's irritated, tear stained skin and to just gently wipe it all away. Back to normal. As much as he wanted to at least cup Keith's face in his hand and rub his thumb across the puffy skin around Keith's eyes, Shiro held back, closing his hands into fists as he settled down into the desk chair, a slow sigh escaping his lips as he relaxed his shoulders a bit.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "About what Matt said. It was... it was cruel. I'll talk to him about it more, I promise." Shiro lifted his coffee to his lips and drained away another sip. "I'll work from home for the next few days to keep things under control... actually I might just stay here as long as you're here for. The only times you might be alone in the apartment with him are when I go out on missions..." Shiro trailed off, feeling nearly bizarre to just casually announce his vigilante work like that — especially with Keith being the Red Flame and all.

Shiro looked up, furrowing his brow a little. "Which reminds me. We have to talk about that sometime too. Whenever you're ready," he said, settling his bottom lip between his teeth to bite at a bit anxiously. "We don't have to address it today or maybe even tomorrow but... we can't just forget about our alter egos. I can't just forget about the Galra. Not after... not after everything they've done. To me and the city."

"What have they done to you?" keith asked, genuinely confused. He'd never known anything about the Galra before working for them and he definitely didn't know that Shiro had any personal connections or fights with them. He didn't really know anything now that he thought of it- just that money and that his boss was a dick. "Look, I don't know anything about the Galra. I just worked for them. I was given names and I took people out to get paid and that was it. You weren't a part of it until recently and even then I put a lot on the line to keep you safe. I know that doesn't redeem it at all but... I really put a lot on the line to keep you alive."

 

He sighed a little, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry, man, I don't know how I can help. Not while I'm getting so buddy-buddy with Zarkon to save my own skin." He didn't even realise he'd let the name slip. God, even drunk Keith had managed not to give up the name.

Fortunately, Shiro already knew who Zarkon was. He looked up at him, narrowing his eyes a little. "Well, you don't have to get 'buddy-buddy' with Zarkon for much longer," he said, voice only growing flat because of how much the idea of Keith and Zarkon even being acquainted with one another made his skin crawl. "I'll take care of him. Just tell me where he is and I'll make sure he isn't a problem anymore."

Shiro turned his head, looking to the floor before speaking again. "That night I fought with Sendak he told me something about my parents. Apparently the car accident wasn't really... an accident," he muttered, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling a bit at the thought of it. "Which makes matters with the Galra a little more personal, I guess. That's one of the reasons I was so harsh in that message... I was just... I didn't want to associate you with them. I couldn't." Shiro swallowed hard and then cleared his throat a little, shaking his head. His tone was more full and a bit more normal when he continued.

"But whatever. At least you can tell me how to get to him. I have a friend — Lotor — who used to have ties to Zarkon. I'm sure if I tell him I have this good of a shot he'll help me out."

"Lotor? No chance of getting his help," Keith said, shrugging a little as he popped another Reese's into his mouth. "Zarkon despises his son. He keeps saying it during meetings- if I make mistakes, I'll be as much of a disgrace as his 'wayward son', etcetera. Trust me. If you want to take Zarkon down, the best chance you've got is with me. I'll go to a few more meetings, get closer, and then we can stage a fight and I'll turn you in. Then we take him down from inside. How's that?" he asked, fully expecting Shiro to tell him that such a plan would never work and that he was being selfish. That they'd find another way that didn't involve being so close with Zarkon.

"Besides, it won't be as easy as telling you where he is. He has weapons, security, everything. You'd be detected and apprehended- if not killed- before even getting to his office."

Shiro's eyes widened a bit at Keith's sudden initiative, taking a moment to process his plan. "Wait... you would help me?" Shiro asked, eyes brightening up a bit more than they had in the past few days. "Jeez, Keith. I thought I was going to have to beg Zarkon's destination out of you... but it seems like you're more than willing to help. You've got a plan and everything."

He leaned forwards a bit, leaning his elbow on his thigh and cupping his face in his palm as he thought about it. "Not to mention your plan isn't half bad," he said, looking down to the floor. "You probably know where all the guards are and how to get past them. And I have to admit breaking in trojan horse style seems a hell of a lot less tiring than bursting in guns blazing. I... I'd have to put a lot of trust in you though." Shiro looked up at him, just a shimmer of hurt worry flickering across his features. "I can do that, can't I?"

Keith frowned.  
"You've never questioned that before," he said, arms folding over his chest. "I know everything about that place and how to get away with shit. I've stolen a lot of stuff from there and I've never been caught. Just- trust me. I know what I'm doing and I know what we can do. I also know that during interrogations, Zarkon gets cocky. If you were to, somehow, escape your restraints and catch him off guard, he'd be thrown off. You just have to trust me on this."

He set his empty cup aside and almost got to his feet before Kosmo put his weight on top of Keith and stopped him from going anywhere.  
"We can work out the finer details but I wouldn't risk doing this any sooner than a weeks time, alright? I could organise three meetings in the span of the next week without it being too suspicious, then I'd contact Zarkon to let him know that I've got you. We will have to have your identity revealed to him but that could wait until I've actually got you at Zarkon's. It could put you in some serious danger to do it more than a day sooner."

Shiro nodded, half glad Keith didn't really pick up on what he had meant before, but also half worried. He leaned back in his seat, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Okay... yeah. That's definitely a good plan of action. Might take some convincing to get Matt involved, but I'm sure I could get through to him," he said, shrugging a little. He noticed the disgusted snarl that curled into Keith's lips at the idea of Matt, and quickly held out a hand, fast to interrupt before Keith could argue. "Matt's helping. There's no argument, okay? Last time I did a mission without Matt I was beaten up by a giant mutant and hospitalized."

He offered a wan smile at the dark joke, and tilted his head to the side, his crooked grin once again one of the brightest looks he had mustered up in the past few days. "Sure this situation is kind of awful and everything... but I can't deny I like the idea of working with you instead of against you," Shiro murmured, flicking his eyes off to the side. "Despite everything, of course. On my side or not, you're an amazing fighter. I mean, you almost killed me that one time." Shiro's grin faded a bit. "Did you, uh, know it was me when you did that? Is that why you... stopped?"

"Both times," Keith said, shrugging a little. "I always knew it was you. It was just... I had jobs to do. I was getting my ass handed to me at work because I wasn't killing you. I stopped because I couldn't kill you and Zarkon damn near shot me for it. Then I kept failing to kill you and suddenly Sendak was dead and you weren't and, god, he really did almost have me for that. He was a second away from killing me and I had to make up some bullshit about you killing Sendak so... if he brings that up, you've got to take the fall for me."

He put his head in his hands.  
"I didn't want it to drag on this long! I never meant for it to go on this long! Ten jobs and I was going to get paid and then it was done but then he cut my pay for not killing you and I had to do more jobs to get the same amount of money. I needed one more kill and then I'd get money and then I'd quit but- but then you found out and I couldn't bring myself to do a job and-" he paused, catching his breath, trying to calm himself down before he started to panic. He didn't want to throw himself into some kind of panic and end up going totally off on a tangent. "But he should pay me when I turn you in so I'll get the money and get to kill him."

Shiro looked at him a long moment or so. "There were other ways to get money, Keith," he murmured, flicking his gaze down to the floor -- looking at his feet. "I know you never liked accepting my help but... I was always right here for you. There was no reason to get so... desperate. I... I could have..."

He knew it didn't matter. That it was too late. That Keith couldn't go back and change what he did even if he wanted to.

And Shiro remembered the way Keith clearly stated that he didn't want to back in that parking facility.

"I can't take any of this back. I wouldn't if I could."

"Nevermind," Shiro said quickly, trying hard to push the entire scene from his memory. Every time he seemed to backtrack and run through everything that had happened, it just seemed to get worse. It just seemed to hurt worse. "Let's just drop it there. We don't need to talk about it."

He gave a soft sigh, and knocked back the rest of his coffee in one long, draining sip. He set the empty cup down and stood up from his chair, stepping over a little closer to Keith. His hair was still messed -- tangled and curled from sleeping. Maybe from his crying too, like he had simply grabbed fistfuls of his hair in his hands while sitting all alone in Shiro's bathroom. Shiro frowned, and, out of old impulse, reached his hand up and brushed some of Keith's hair from his face. Just like before when Keith had been asleep, Shiro seemed to stall a moment or so before letting his hand leave Keith's face, hesitating as it traced the curve of Keith's jaw, the warmth clinging to Shiro's fingertips. He did finally let his hand drop, however, understanding there were likely boundaries Keith didn't want him to cross right then and there.

Even if Keith had crossed a few of his own the night prior. The feeling of his lips against Shiro's still hadn't left his consciousness.

"How are you feeling?" Shiro asked tiredly, mustering up a wan smile. "Did the hot chocolate help? I figured today we could probably take a drive over to your house and pack you a bag and get anything you might want or need while you stay here -- the bank can kick you out but they can't take your stuff. After that I'll make some phone calls and see what I can do in terms of buying it back from them." He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, blowing a long sigh of air through his lips. "The city is planning on doing renovations in your area -- expanding out. Less houses, more condos. I want to make sure we get your house back before they can sign off on tearing it down. I just hope they'll let me buy it back."

"Don't bother," Keith murmured. "It was a shithole. I'll... I'll find somewhere else. I'd rather get a different house than cling onto that shitty one."Shrugging a little, Keith pushed himself to his feet and ran his hands through his hair. "I feel better for the hot chocolate, though, and I'd like to go back and get a couple of things but I won't be retrieving too much. Just photos, maybe a few things with sentimental value, a couple things I stole that haven't sold yet, things like that." He brushed his hands off on his pants. "I'm going to go get a shower real quick. Any chance you've got some clothes that'll fit me that I could wear?" he began through to the ensuite, digging out a black towel and hanging it over the heater before he tugged off his shirt- which was almost stuck to him with sweat- and left it on the floor. "Just kick them in when I shower. I really need to get cleaned up."

Shiro took a moment to respond, still caught up in the idea that Keith would ever just willingly lose his house. "Oh... of course," he said quietly, nodding his head as he followed Keith to the door of the bathroom. " I'm sure I could find something."

Getting the approval, Keith pulled the door closed behind him before turning on the shower and stripping off the rest of his uncomfortably sticky clothes to step under the spray of hot water.

Thank god Shiro had such a good house and so much fortune or Keith's life would be so, so much worse. He was so grateful to get a shower after so long, and after last night's alcoholism too. He could feel the hot water removing layers of sweat and grime from his skin- and it felt heavenly. He gathered a handful of shampoo- the same one as Shiro used, the one that smelt of vanilla, and began to massage it into his hair, already feeling much better for it. He washed it through with conditioner and then cleaned his body with some sweet smelling body wash he'd never seen in Shiro's house before, making sure to wash thoroughly in the time he had. A hot chocolate and a shower made him feel better.

 

And who knew that all he had to do to cope with a bereavement was to repress everything and leech off of his rich crush?

Just as long as he didn't think of anything, he'd be fine. That was how he dealt with most things.

So he left the shower almost an hour later, having made the most of every product he could have gotten his hands on, and dried off with the towel to look at the clothes Shiro had left for him. A pair of Matt's blue jeans and one of Shiro's nerdy shirts. He couldn't complain. Tugging the clothes on, he checked the mirror to comb his hair and rinse his face with cold water before turning and starting back to the bedroom to present himself to Shiro. The new and improved Keith, wearing blue jeans that were still a little too baggy for his skinny body and a shirt that was several sizes too large for him.  
"Thanks for letting me use the shower," he said to Shiro, noting that he'd changed his bedding from the night before and opened the curtains, which were closed earlier to let Keith cope with his hangover. It was passing now, thankfully, and the painkillers had long since killed his headache. He'd be fine.

Shiro nodded a little, standing up from his spot in his chair and moving over to to Keith. He reached down for the slack of Keith's shirt, styling it in a sort of french tuck so it didn't seem so big on him as well as keeping the waistband of Matt's pants more secure around Keith's hips.

"You're welcome," Shiro hummed, flicking his eyes down to the pant legs of Keith's jeans. They would have looked better cuffed, but Shiro didn't comment on it. Instead he turned his gaze back up to Keith's eyes and offered a gentle smile. "You smell much nicer. Your hair looks nice too."

"Wow, thanks," Keith said sarcastically. "So I used to smell really bad or something? Don't you like the smell of alcohol and sadness?"

Shiro snorted. "Can't say I do," he snickered. Shiro crossed his arms over his chest and nodded backwards towards the bedroom door, his features growing a bit more serious. "I figured that after we go get whatever you want from your house we could sit down with Matt and maybe... go over whatever kind of plan we came up with? If you're not ready to talk to him, that's fine, but before we do anything, we talk to him. That's step number one."

Keith rolled his eyes. "We might not get to step two."


	22. Plotting

Matt looked up at Shiro, his eyes wide behind his glasses. His lips, one side still swollen and scabbed from the punch delivered to him that morning, parted into a disgustedly surprised gape. He leaned up from his spot on the couch, shaking his head back and forth, still not able to even dignify Keith with even a simple glance. He just stared at Shiro as though he'd been a madman.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, pushing up a little bit on the couch. Shiro could smell the scent of strong weed wafting from Matt as he moved -- Shiro figured dismally he had gone out and smoked a bit to settle his nerves after his argument with Keith. "Shiro, God, I know you have like zero common sense but this is a whole new low. You want to willingly hand yourself over to the guy who wants your head on a steak, and you're going to depend on Keith to keep you safe?"

Shiro frowned a little, but he nodded. He'd been standing rather alertly, making sure he was the right distance from both Keith and Matt to be able to spring into action and stop one from lunging at the other. As much as he figured his previous chastising from that morning had affected Matt, he knew better than to take chances. Especially with the way Keith tensed up at the sound of his own name hissed through Matt's scowling lips.

"If you think about it, this is our best and safest bet on getting Zarkon," Shiro said. "Keith and I have been discussing possible plans all day. He's going to get closer to Zarkon in the span of a week or so, 'capture' the Black Paladin, and then we're going to take him out from the inside. I trust Keith, Matt. There's no need to worry."

Matt scoffed, rolling his eyes so dramatically he seemed to throw his head back. "You trust Keith? Really?" he snapped. "I... God, Shiro. What if he just turns you in and never breaks you out? What if this is all some kind of way to get you into Zarkon's hands?" He flicked his harsh gaze over to Keith for just a moment, looking him up and down before turning back to Shiro. "You're literally going to have to trust him with your life. How can you just... how can you just do that?"

"At least I don't make fun of orphans," Keith spat under his breath, before pausing a moment when he noticed how Shiro was looking at him. "My ass depends on this too. My life is on the line if any of this goes wrong. If you want to believe that I'm selfish then that's exactly the reason why I still wouldn't betray Shiro. The other reason is because I don't want to do something like that. I don't want to just turn Shiro in to be tormented. I don't want to hand Shiro over for a shitty promotion and more ties with a mafia I don't want to be a part of."

He wanted to wring Matt's neck already. Oh, great.

Instead, though, he slumped back in his chair.

"I want to take Zarkon down. Both for my sake and Shiro's. I want to defeat Zarkon. I want him to get the hell out of everyone's life. I never want to see him again. I want him to die. Partly because he implied that he might have had something to do with my mom's death- disappearance-" he faltered, correcting himself for Shiro's sake, "and partly because he's a horrible person. And if I wanted to get him delivered to Zarkon, why would I be telling you? Of all people to tell, I'd only tell you shit if I wanted my life ruined. I can't trust you to pass a message onto Shiro, why would I ever tell you about the plan? If it would make you feel better, we could get Lotor in on it?"

He looked up at Shiro.  
"Wouldn't you like that? Just to ensure that I'm not going to hand you over for a little money and a pat on the head, let's tell Lotor about the plan too."

Shiro furrowed his brow at Keith.

"I'd go through with the plan with or without, Lotor," he said quietly, hoping to clear his point of trust over before turning back to Matt. "But all things considered, we are going to need all the manpower we have. Having Lotor on our side for this would be great."

Matt stared at him, his gaze still one of a man looking at someone who had three heads. "Shiro, Lotor or not... this plan is still insane," he said urgently, leaning up even more on the sofa -- nearly sitting on the edge of the couch cushion. "Whether I trust Keith or not, there are so many other factors that could... Jesus Shiro it could get you killed!"

He finally stood up from the couch, features twisting up into something more emotional than their previous stubborn anger. "What if Zarkon decides to shoot you the moment he gets your mask off? What if they figure you guys out and you both get killed?" Matt asked, voice desperate. "I've gotten so close to losing you twice now. So close, Shiro!" Matt's tone was raising steadily, growing in high feverenty. "There's only so much I can watch you do to yourself before it kills me too! You're my best friend, Shiro. God, you're like my brother! I can't just let you go off on some suicide mission. I can't lose you. Not to death and not to... not to fuckin' Keith either..."

Shiro straightened up a little, pulling his gaze up from the floor where he had so shamefully flicked and meeting Matt's sad, teary eyes. He softened his stare, cocking his head to the side and parting his lips to respond. Matt cut him off before he could speak, however, shaking his head.

"Sorry... sorry," he muttered bitterly, sniffling hard as he brought his hands up to his eyes to wipe them. "Forget I said that. I'm still kind of high..."

Matt trailed off, swallowing hard before reluctantly bringing his gaze over to Keith. "Sorry I... Sorry I said all those things this morning too, Keith." Another sniffle, and one final wipe of his eyes beneath his glasses before Matt let his hands fall to his sides and his body slump back into the couch. "I didn't mean any of it and it was such a douchebag thing to say. I've been regretting it ever since it left my mouth. I was just so... so angry Shiro was letting you back into his life like you didn't break his heart. I saw the way you hurt him and it just kinda... you know..."

Keith watched him for a moment or so, eyes narrowing for a moment before he sighed, shrugged, and slumped back to show that there were no hard feelings.  
"It's whatever," he said eventually, though his voice was dry and scratchy and he didn't really want to discuss it here or now. He was trying to push away the suffocating emptiness that swelled in his chest every time he thought of his mom, just repressing all of it as quickly as he could so he wouldn't start to cry too. He couldn't leave two messes on Shiro's hands. "It doesn't matter."

Shiro didn't say anything for a few moments, just watching Matt fight back his tears back before his common rationality took over, and he began moving towards Matt rather than just standing by and doing nothing. He slowly settled down on the sofa beside Matt, wordless as he raised up his arm in invitation for a hug. Matt only seemed to hesitate for a second or so, but that second passed quickly and soon Matt was clinging to his chest, hugging close and tight. Shiro draped the arm over Matt's shoulder and hugged him back, the two of them wordless as Matt and his stoned brain worked through whatever it was he needed to work through.

"You can go on the stupid mission," Matt muttered after a few long minutes of silence. "But I get to surveil the whole thing. And you have to be super careful and listen to me. And Lotor gets to help." He sniffled again for the last time, shaking his head a little. "And if you die, I'll never forgive you. Ever."

Shiro nodded. "Understood," he said quietly, offering Matt a quaint little smile. He flicked his gaze back up to Keith. "Those sound like fairly reasonable compromises, right?"

"Yeah," Keith said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I mean, I expected far worse so that's good. Someone call Lotor so we can run him through the plan and get his opinion on it all. If anyone will be able to see flaws in our plan it'll be him; he knows the most about Zarkon so he can tell us how to anticipate his reactions. In fact- I think I'll leave you two to talk to him. I don't have the best record with Lotor and I need to go talk to Zarkon, tell him I think I'm getting close and all that."

He got to his feet, digging his phone out of his pocket and opening his chat with Zarkon.

'Any chance of a meeting?' he sent. 'I've got an idea of who he might be but im gonna need time. Want to brief you on the update.' And, after a few seconds, he got a text back saying to go to the office, that the receptionist would know that he had an appointment. He slid the phone over to Matt, just so he could know that Keith wasn't double-crossing them.  
"I can't be too late to that," he said. "It could kinda get me killed."

Matt frowned as he scanned the messages, and then offered a nod, leaned away from the phone and back into Shiro's arms. "Alright," he said drowsily, shrugging up his shoulders. Matt laid his head down on Shiro's chest and settled his eyes to a content close, looking like he planned on simply sleeping off his high on top of Shiro. "I guess, even with everything, it's kinda nice to have a guy on the inside."

Shiro nodding, snorting a little before turning his gaze back up to Keith. "I'll call Lotor while you're out," he said, smiling. "Just come back here as soon as you're out of your meeting okay? Don't let him talk you into any more jobs. And, uh, if it helps you can drop my name as one of your lead suspects. It'll make everything more believable when you bring me in. Just don't convince him to the point of killing me right off the bat, okay?"

"I was actually going over to convince him not to do that," he said, pulling his jacket on and starting to the door. "I figured that it would be important to convince him he can get information out of you so that he'll have a reason not to just 'waste you'. I'll be gone about an hour or two, and I'll text you to pick me up when I'm safe enough distance away, alright?"

He got up and started toward the door, pulling his bag over his shoulder and shouting a goodbye over his shoulder before he turned and he left. He had a meeting to get to- rather urgently, as well- and he didn't want to be here when Lotor was arriving. It would be best for him to avoid any kind of interaction with Lotor. For both of their sakes.

~~~

 

The doorbell rang about an hour later, and Shiro was quick to hop up to answer the door. He had cleaned up the house a bit -- discarding all of Keith's empty bottles and any of the candy wrappers Matt had left behind. Shiro had made Matt take a cold shower to both sober him up and rid himself of the smell of pot. Lotor coming over was always an occasion to stress over. Even if he couldn't quite see the state of Shiro's fancy apartment, Shiro always found himself a bit more nitpicky and worried whenever Lotor would show -- his home was that much more expensive and that much more pristine... it made Shiro self conscious, even though he was quite sure Lotor couldn't and wouldn't judge him.

He opened up the door, smiling brightly at the sight of Lotor. As usual, Lotor opened his arms a bit and Shiro went in for the hug, squeezing him tight. It was the first time they had seen each other with Shiro up on his feet and without a crutch -- Lotor hadn't been over in a good collection of weeks, really. Shiro couldn't deny how nice it was to see him, especially since the last time they had met Shiro was hurt and rather broody.

"Thanks for coming, Lotor," Shiro sighed as he pulled away from the hug, stepping back and holding the door open for him as he made his way into Shiro's apartment, tapping the floor gently with his cane. "We have... a lot to talk about. You wouldn't believe everything that has happened over the past few days, man. It's crazy."

Matt chimed out from the couch, beside from where Shiro had just been sitting. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap, despite Shiro asking him to keep the food in the kitchen while Lotor was over, and had been crunching on handfuls of it as he leaned up from the cushions of the couch. "Hi Lotor!" he chirped, lifting a hand to wave at him.

Lotor smiled, his attention flicking from Shiro to Matt as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him.

"I'm sure that there is plenty to discuss," he said after a little while, using his cane to feel around the floor in front of him to follow the source of Matt's voice, soon safely finding and settling down on his chair. He heard a meowing somewhere to his right and held out his hand, soon having Atlas come and sniff at his hand, intrigued by the new smell and soon settling down on his lap. "Matt, it's been a long time," he greeted warmly, smiling at him and offering his hand- the one that wasn't petting Atlas- for him to shake. He would have gone for a hug but, of course, he had a cat on his lap and dared not disturb him. Matt seemed to understand, and simply shook his hand, pretending there hadn't been popcorn butter all over his fingers. Lotor pulled back his newly-greased hand and took a tissue from his pocket and wiped his hand clean.

"Your voice sounded rather sombre over the phone, Shiro, if you don't mind my saying. Is there an issue? Something that I'm not aware of? I would presume there's been some developments on the situation with the Red Flame bearing in mind that there hasn't been any news on him or his arson attacks often over the last month. Just one or two hits." He sent a glance at Shiro- or where he could hear his footsteps coming from, waiting for him to sit down beside him.

Shiro nodded a little, making his way over to the coffee table and settling down on it, sitting on the very edge so he could look at both Matt and Lotor at the same time. "It's about the Red Flame, actually," Shiro said, flicking Matt a look. Matt just shoved more popcorn into his mouth, waiting for Shiro to break the news himself. Finding no help in his friend, Shiro sighed and looked down at his feet, blowing air through his lips as he stalled -- thinking about just how he could phrase things. "We, uh, know who he is. The last job he did went bad and he almost got caught in his own fire. I got him out of there -- I took off his mask so he could breathe a little better. The smoke was starting to choke him."

Lotor nodded a little, intrigued, though his fingers were still running through Atlas's fur and his eyes fixed on the source of the low, soft purrs. She was fluffy, soft, and she clearly knew it. Lotor was sure that his coat would be covered with cat fur by the time he left- it was just lucky that she was a white cat and he wore white suits.  
"And you discovered his identity," he said, a little smile on his lips. "Who was it?"

Shiro slumped his shoulders a little, skin crawling at the mere idea of what he was going to have to say. "It was Keith. It, uh, it's been Keith all along," he murmured, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Apparently he didn't know what he was getting into when he said he'd work for the Galra. He knew who I was the whole time -- I don't know how but he knew. It's why he didn't kill me. And it's why he killed Sendak and saved my life."

"It's why he was always covered in bruises the day after Shiro and 'Red' would get into a fight," Matt said, rolling his eyes a little. "I honestly don't know how we couldn't tell sooner. Looking back at it now, it's kinda ridiculous we didn't figure it out."

Shiro frowned at him, and Matt quieted down. There was a moment or so of silence before Shiro spoke again, sighing a little. "It messed me up for a bit, but I got over it," Shiro muttered, shaking his head. "Keith came by last night, drunk as hell. Long story short he's staying here because he needs to. I... I guess I forgive him. It's what's best for the situation at hand. He said he'll help us take care of Zarkon -- we even have a plan. I figured we'd run it by you."

Lotor watched him, having fallen silent as soon as the reveal was announced. The news of Shiro forgiving Keith, however, made him frown and he turned his focus to where Shiro's voice was coming from.

"You forgave him?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual, taken aback and shocked but as if he couldn't quite get anger into his voice. "Why? Why would you do that? After all that he did under the mask, you simply chose that you could let all of that slide?" He turned his gaze to Matt, his tone turning accusatory, his words a little sharper now. "You didn't tell him not to forgive Keith? I assume that you were here while all this happened- judging by everything going on at your house- so why wouldn't you do something about it? I want it to be clear that I'm not blaming you for it, I just want to know how your influence over him only seems to fail in crucial moments. Like these."

Matt threw his hands up a little, letting out a bitter sort of scoff. "You think I didn't try to tell Shiro he was an idiot?" he said, snickering. He turned to Lotor, and brought his hand up to point to his face. "This is what happened when I tried to tell Keith off." There was a pause of silence before it clicked in Matt's brain that Lotor couldn't quite see what he was pointing at. He cringed and let his hand drop a little. "Oh, shit. Sorry. 'This' is a split lip. Keith fucking punched me in the face."

"That's because of what you said about his mother," Shiro mumbled. "He punched you for a reason."

Matt gestured Shiro. "You hear that! Shiro is just letting it go! Yeah I was being an asshole but I didn't hit the guy. He already forgave Keith for giving me a swollen lip -- it's like he's obsessed with the guy."

Accepting Matt's answer, he paused a moment, turning to look at Shiro again.  
"Don't think that just because I was talking to Matt that you're off the hook. I'm... I have a number of questions I need to ask you about this situation before I can make any kind of a decision and even then I have a lot to say to you for making such a decision. What drove you to accept his apology after he did such a thing? And, moreover, what made you accept his apology and let him stay at your house? Eating your food, drinking your drinks, sleeping in your bed with the mutt that follows him around? That, I'd assume, has already done a fair amount of damage?"

Shiro frowned a little, bringing his hands up to their opposite arms as though he'd been hugging himself. "I... it's Keith's business," he said quietly, shrugging his shoulders a little. "You don't need to know."

Matt groaned and leaned up from the couch a little, rolling his eyes again. "Keith's mom is MIA, and he got evicted from his house. It was Shiro's house or the street for him."

"Matt!" Shiro snapped, gritting his teeth a bit. "That's personal stuff... you can't just go telling everyone."

"Yeah, and Keith can't go around setting fire to people's houses, but you're letting him get away with it scott free," Matt grumbled back, slumping back into the couch and shoving more popcorn into his mouth, chewing loudly. Almost obnoxiously. Shiro wondered inwardly if he'd still had a trace of his high hanging over in his system.

Shiro shook his head a little, reaching a hand up to hold the bridge of his nose, as he always did when he felt a headache brewing up in his temples. "Listen, Keith had just lost everything. I couldn't just turn him away because he hurt me -- that would be selfish and just downright... cruel," he explained, trying hard to keep his voice from growing too tense. "And on top of everything, Keith said he would help take care of Zarkon. He needs me and we need him. Like I said, forgiving him was best for the situation, okay?"

Matt hummed a little. "Are you sure that's not just because he kissed you?"

"That's not why!" Shiro argued, eyes shooting open a little wider in surprise. He turned to Lotor, shaking his head. "That's not why. I promise that's not why."

 

Lotor studied his tone, noting the indignant way he defended himself and the anger laced into his words. They seemed genuine.

"So your feelings are returned?" he asked after a few moments, as if it would just be safer to leave it at that. To turn to a different topic and address something else so he wouldn't just pick apart Shiro's defence to try and find any issues with what he'd said. "That's unsurprising news. After you told me of the..." he paused. "Does Matt know?"

Shiro blushed a little. "Yeah," he muttered, pretending he couldn't see Matt's aghast reaction at the fact that Shiro had told Lotor about his night with Keith before telling him. "He found out last night, actually."

Lotor nodded and continued.  
"After the night you told me you'd shared, I expected something to happen. It was either going to be a fight that drove you two apart or intimacy and... you got both. However, you said that you couldn't turn Keith away because it would be selfish. Didn't I tell you last time we met up that you had to be selfish sometimes? For your own sake? That regardless of whether or not it would hurt the other person, you have to be selfish for you?" He scratched under Atlas's chin, hearing her purrs get louder as she moved her head into his hand.

"Keith has been through hell, but everyone has gone through their own kind of hell and he did bring it upon himself. He didn't deserve what happened with his parents but he would have deserved what he would have gotten if you'd chosen to turn him away when he came to you for help. You can't be expected to help him whenever he needs it. Would he help you in the same way if he could? I don't want an answer for that now but... just consider it."

He turned to Matt. The chewing was getting on his nerves by now, not to mention the rustling from the pack of popcorn and the pack of chips.

"If you could stop eating with your mouth open, I'd appreciate being briefed on what the plan is while Shiro gets me a drink. Either that or Shiro could tell me while you get me a cup of tea; I'm not particularly fussed as long as the loud chewing stops and I'm brought up to speed."

Matt gave a dramatic sort of sigh, and leaned up, sitting up and setting the popcorn bowl onto the coffee table beside Shiro. He stood up and, without a word, made his way into the kitchen, grumbling about tea and Lotor and on top of everything Shiro. Shiro watched him go, his brow furrowed a little, gaze trailing Matt until he disappeared into the kitchen. Once he was gone, however, Shiro turned back to Lotor.

He was in a bit of a daze after Lotor's input on Shiro and his selflessness and Keith and his selfishness. The thing that seemed to be stuck in his head in some tantalizing echo, bouncing back and forth about his skull cavity, had been Lotor's final question addressed to him.

Would he help you in the same way if he could?

Shiro was terrified to admit that he really didn't know.

He closed his eyes tight and forced himself to keep from thinking about it, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw muscles pulsed. Shiro would just have to shove it all back. Lotor was there before him, waiting patiently for some sort of plan he could pull and pick apart in the same fashion he'd always tear into Shiro and Shiro's head. He couldn't keep him waiting, even if Shiro needed more than just a moment or so of collecting his thoughts. Hell, his head felt as though it could just burst, his headache morphing into that of a mild migraine at Lotor's harsh, rather blunt words and questions.

As much as he hated to say it, Shiro couldn't deny it was lucky that Lotor couldn't see him. Couldn't see his face go pale and his clenched fists tremble. The only thing Shiro had to hide was the somber quality of his voice, and even then he could easily blame it on the emotions surrounding Keith in general -- not just what Lotor was making him think about.

"Well, uh, I don't know how much you're going to like it," Shiro murmured, voice a little dry. He cleared his throat a little, and straightened up his posture. "But Keith is going to have a few meetings with Zarkon. Apparently they're growing closer -- Zarkon is trusting him more. He even made him the leader on the whole 'finding out who the Black Paladin is' thing. Keith is going to build up the idea that Zarkon should question me if I ever end up getting captured and then... we're going to let me get captured."

Shiro watched the shock reflect across Lotor's features, and was quick to continue, speaking before Lotor could even start to object. "Keith is going to make sure I'm safe and everything's controlled. The only thing I have to worry about is Zarkon trying to hurt me a little, but he won't kill me. All I need is a safe way into Zarkon's mansion, and then when he like... locks me up or something and leaves me alone for a bit, Keith will let me out and we'll take him out in a surprise attack." He looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. "It's stupid and desperate... but that's all we have at this point. All I know is that I trust Keith to keep me safe. I trust that he won't try to double cross me. I know him."

"Do you?" Lotor asked. "Or do you think that you know him because you know his trauma? If you trust him, then sure, go ahead- I'll go through with discussing the plan and pointing out flaws but I need you to think this through before you wind up doing something that you're going to regret. Like getting killed by my father because you put faith in the wrong place. If the worst part of the best outcome is being roughed up a little, how badly would it end for you if something went wrong?"

He straightened up a little.  
"How do you plan on getting caught? Will you stage a fight? Meet at a scene of a crime? Or will you just turn up at Zarkon's door with Keith's hand on your shoulder and have to hope that he'll fall for your trick? You'll need to be bruised and bloody. You'll both need to look like you got into a fight but you'll need to look like you lost. You can do makeup for bruises on your body if you don't want to get hurt and Keith could leave your face alone for the sake of 'the reveal', provided Zarkon gets to unmask you, but even then you need to make sure it looks like there was conflict. You should be sweating, exhausted. You should look like you've done a workout dressed in your tight suit."

"Without even getting into all of the issues of Keith being involved with- being buddies with- my father, how do you expect to carry yourself around him? Being tough and indestructible won't get you anything but beaten. You need to seem weak, near breaking point, like you can't handle much more. You have to get to a point where he's cocky enough to leave the room. Take it from..." Lotor trailed off, pausing a moment. As if the next sentence was a little difficult to get out. "Take it from someone who knows how he acts when he's violent. Fighting back makes it escalate. Being quiet, acting defeated, listening to what he says- that's when he'll start to get comfortable. That's when he'll leave you with his right hand man, to get them to break you. That's when it'll be perfect for Keith to get you out of there. Not to mention that doing anything more than playful banter would get you beaten so badly you wouldn't last in a final fight."

Shiro listened, his system sinking a little -- the confidence in their plan faltering a bit. He wondered why Keith hadn't mentioned anything like that... why Keith made it seem as though they'd be in and out with nothing but maybe a black eye and some bruises. Lotor's question whispered to him from the corners of his consciousness, and Shiro had to stuff it back even further again, biting the inside of his cheek hard to keep from thinking about it.

"I can manage that," Shiro muttered, even though the mere thought of appearing helpless and weak in front of Zarkon made his stomach churn with nothing but pure disgust. "Keith and I could maybe have something sort of like a spar before we leave... hell, maybe I'll let him knock me out and drag me in there or something. We can manage it."

He lifted a hand and brushed it through his hair, pushing his bangs up on his head in a frustrated sort of fidget. "I'll make sure to keep a limit on the banter. I won't give in right away to keep from rising suspicion, but I won't fight back until he kills me. I can... make it seem like I've given up. Even though the sound of that makes me feel sick to my stomach." Shiro looked back towards the kitchen, watching for Matt a moment or so -- hoping he'd come back and dilute the tension of the atmosphere a bit. When he didn't show, Shiro turned back to Lotor and sighed, shrugging his shoulders a little. "I can put my faith in Keith, Lotor. I do know him. We've known each other since high school. He's told me things he wouldn't ever tell anyone else. He trusts me... so I trust him too. He's my friend. Best friend, if you don't count Matt and you. He... he wouldn't let me down."

Again, you mean?

Shiro cringed, but he didn't let the snide inner comment phase him. He just waited for Lotor to make it worse, hands clenched so tightly he could feel his fingernails dig into his palm.

"Of course not," Lotor said after a few minutes. "I'm sure he's gotten tired of the same reaction he got every other time he did it." Glancing down at his lap, Lotor ran his fingers through Atlas's fur, hearing her purrs quieten as she began to fall asleep on him, her head settled against his stomach. "Listen, Shiro, I'm not doubting Keith. I'm not doubting your trust in Keith or your reasons why you trust him but..."

He sighed quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. The next words he spoke were heavy, and cautious.  
"Be wary of where you place your trust. I had friends that I'd known since I was eleven. I'd relied on them and gone to them with every issue that I'd had. One day, however, one of them turned out to be double-crossing me. Giving away my information for my plans and I had to... get my hands dirty, per se, to deal with the issue. She, Narti, had been one of my closest friends and I was forced to kill her in the name of self-preservation. She knew too much and she knew where to find me if I chose to let her live."

 

For a few moments, he seemed to be done speaking. He didn't lift his head, as if he was distracting himself by focusing on the cat on his lap.  
"I turned to my remaining three friends for help. For support. After I'd killed Narti, however, their faith wavered. I hadn't told them why I'd killed her, so they never knew that it was a life-or-death situation. They never knew how fatal of a mistake it could have been to leave her alive. She was blind, mute, and in their eyes she had been helpless. A day or so later, while I was figuring out what direction to go in now that so much information had been leaked, my friends turned against me.

"The three of them, who I had held so dear, suddenly turned against and rejected me. Their abandonment wasn't enough, though. No. Instead, they cornered me when I had my back turned. When I was vulnerable. They were... they planned on murdering me, Shiro. For my slaughtering Narti, as if that hadn't been enough of an emotional burden, they wanted to me to pay for blood with blood. I struggled, I fought, and instead of killing me they scratched my eyes. They blinded me. I have no doubts that they would have slashed at my throat, too, or tried to cut out my tongue to mute me."

His attention soon fixed on Shiro, his eyes piercing though they were clouded and empty. Ever so slightly visible under his layers of makeup were the scars he mentioned- white, jagged slashes that cut through his eyebrow and ended a little under his eye. They were only noticeable if one was to strain to look at them but they were there. It was no wonder they were covered up every time he was in company. They had a deeply traumatising story to tell.

"You can trust people as much as you want. You can tell yourself that you know them, that they'd never do anything like that to you, but when something happens... when something irreversible occurs, and too much damage is done, you will regret not taking action to prevent it. You will regret letting him get close enough to see you vulnerable and to take advantage of your weaknesses. Take my word for it."

Shiro watched him, wordless... no... speechless. Stunned into silence. He parted his lips to give some sort of response, but found himself at a complete loss for things to say. It was so rare that Lotor would willingly recall his past in such a manner. It made the situation all the more dire. All the more important. Shiro swallowed hard and looked down, running those last few statements over and over again in his mind. He tried not to feel the way Lotor's chilling and rather heart twisting story began to eat away at his sturdy wall of defense. Tearing it apart bit by bit.

He wanted to tell himself that Keith would never do such a thing to him... but at the same time Shiro knew it was no use. Hell, Keith had already gotten close to hurting Shiro in ways that could prove to be irreversible. He had already burned a scar into the side of Shiro's neck... he had already tried to burn him alive, only stopped by the safety feature of his flamethrower. What was to stop Keith from hurting him then? From betraying him, as Narti betrayed Lotor?

What was to stop Keith, Zarkon's right hand man, from 'breaking' Shiro, as Lotor had put it?

Shiro tried to push these new thoughts away... but they were harder to repress than the other ones.

"Lotor," Shiro murmured quietly, unable to say anything else. "I... I understand. I'm sorry."

Lotor sighed a little.  
"I don't fully understand your relationship with Keith, but he doesn't seem to be too loyal of a friend. I don't want you to feel like you can't trust him at all but you shouldn't be putting too much faith into someone who you can't be sure if you trust or not."

He turned to the door as he heard footsteps, still instinctively looking toward the source even if he couldn't see what it was.  
"Matt's back," he said, assuming correctly. "With drinks? I think that Shiro needs something to settle his nerves. We had quite an... interesting conversation that has shaken him quite badly." He held out his hands, feeling the cup settle into his palm and bringing it to his lips to begin taking sips of the tea. It was sweet, made with a little more sugar than Lotor would usually have but he wasn't going to complain, instead saying thanks to Matt for retrieving them their drinks in the first place.

Matt looked down at the bottle of beer in his hands that he had gotten out of the fridge for himself, and then up at Shiro, noting just how tired he had looked -- seeing all the little tells of Shiro's discomfort and frustration that Lotor couldn't. Without another thought, Matt held out his hand, offering the beer to Shiro. Shiro blinked at it, frowning a little, disgust curling the edges of his lips.

"I don't drink beer anymore, Matt," he said, scrunching up his nose a little. "I don't drink in general. And when I do, it certainly isn't beer."

There was a moment of silence, but Matt didn't drop his arm. "Just take the drink, Shiro. You need it," Matt said, sighing. He leaned forwards a bit, gesturing the beer bottle closer. "Sure it tastes like piss but I'm sure you'll get buzzed just a few sips in so you won't even realize it."

Shiro gave an uninterested sort of grumble, but he reached up for the bottle anyways, popping the cap off with the bottle opener Matt had brought along with him and throwing back his first sip. It was one of the few things Matt would buy and store in Shiro's kitchen -- so on top of it being gross beer, it had also been cheap gross beer. Shiro's throat clamped up and he struggled to swallow, eyes watering a bit as he bright the bottle back down from his grimacing lips. The cool beer trickled down into his chest and resonated there, making the disgusting taste on his tongue worth it for that good moment or two. Shiro gave a groan nonetheless, flicking his narrowed eyes down to the bottle and swishing the amber colored liquor about a moment or so with a repulsed sort of curiosity.

"This sucks," Shiro pouted, sticking out his lower lip. Despite the whine, he brought the bottle back to his lips and drained down another sip, licking his lips afterwards.

Matt smiled at him, jutting a thumb back towards the kitchen. "I have two more cartons in the fridge," he hummed, eyes growing a bit mischievous behind the glare of his wire glasses.

"I... Matt I have to go pick up Keith from his meeting," Shiro argued, but only after another sip.

He couldn't deny that the offer was enticing. He also couldn't deny that he was already growing accustomed to the flavor. Maybe two beers would get him buzzed with his low alcohol tolerance. Three or four to make him tipsy. Anything higher to get him downright drunk. And it had been years since Shiro let himself get properly wasted... It dawned on him then that he hadn't been really drunk since Adam broke up with him. Even then, he hauled himself out of bed the next morning with his killer hangover to go to work.

His eyes trailed over to Lotor, who watched curiously from behind his teacup as he sipped at his steaming drink. That reminder about selfishness rang out like a bell in Shiro's mind.

Well... now is the perfect time to be a little selfish, Takashi.

Shiro's concerned lips curled up into a crooked little smile, and he brought the bottle to his lips again, that time taking a rather long swig rather than a dainty sip. "I'll buy Keith an Uber," he hummed, patting his pockets for his phone. He quickly typed out a message to Keith, explaining that he thought it might be too risky if he showed his face too close to Zarkon's place and that an Uber would be safer before clicking off his phone and setting it face down on the coffee table. When he looked back up, Matt was smiling at him. As was Lotor, even if the gentle little grin was hidden behind the lip of the teacup.

"Go get those other cartons, Matt," he said, draining back another sip of the piss-beer. "I might have just... one more."

Shiro had about five more by the time Keith had gotten back to the apartment, actually.

He strode in and threw his bag aside by the door, making sure to kick it out of the way enough in case Lotor was still there.

"I'm back!" Keith called, starting through to the living room to where the three of them were. "And the good news is that you're now a suspect! I've been trusted to keep an eye on you and I will be getting paid extensively for your capture. A nice reward before murder will be a nice way to shake things up," he said as he came in, immediately stopping when he saw Shiro with a beer in his hand and redness in his cheeks. He turned his gaze to Matt. "What the fuck? Why is Shiro drinking beer?"

Lotor sighed a little, getting to his feet now that Atlas had gone to greet Keith instead of sitting on his lap.  
"I think that I've completed my tasks for being brought here," he said, glancing to Shiro. "Thank you for the invite. I'm glad I could help, if I did, and I would appreciate it if someone could lead me to the door in a way that won't have me tripping over cats." He looked in Matt's direction for that, just giving him an excuse to get out of the room and away from Keith's accusations.

Shiro spun around on the table to properly face Keith, knocking over empty beer bottles as he crossed his legs. "Hey Keith!" he said, his louder voice a little slurred as he leaned forwards, intoxicatedly glazed over eyes suddenly bright at the sight of him. "Hi. I missed you. Like a lot actually?" Shiro's eyes flicked back over to Matt and Lotor, Matt standing up beside Lotor's chair to help guide him out the door. He turned back to Keith and lowered his voice down into too loud of a whisper.

"I'm supposed to be mad at you and not trust you though," he said, furrowing his brow. "So grr-" Shiro cut himself off with a snort, having to collect his giggles before continuing. "Grr Keith. Hi. I didn't miss you. Not at all." Another laugh, before Shiro leaned back a little to guzzle down a long sip of his beer.

Matt sighed, patting Shiro on the shoulder with his free hand as he passed him, his other hand settled on the smirking Lotor's arm. Shiro smiled at him and let out a slurred thank you despite not knowing what the gesture was for, before shifting his legs a little so one knee was up to his chest and the other leg laid out straight, foot dangling over the edge of the table as he watched Matt and Lotor go.

"Bye Lotor, I love you," he called, swishing his beer a little as though it had been a gesture of goodbye. Shiro turned his gaze back to the still speechless Keith, and swished his beer some more. "I would offer you one, but you're not allowed to get drunk. Haha." His voice had grown into a playful sort of taunt as he tipped back another sip. "Also these suck. I mean, they're really, really- hic!- good, but they suck. Normally I wouldn't be caught dead drinking this stuff but I'm sad." Another sip. "Like really sad."

"Why are you sad, Shiro?" Keith eventually managed to say, taking a few steps toward Shiro and taking ahold of his arm, guiding him to sit down and pushing him into place. Placing one hand on his shoulder to settle him before he sat down beside Shiro, fixing him with a concerned gaze. "Did something happen while I was out? Aside from the obvious and your sudden liking of beer." He reached up, running his fingers through Shiro's hair to flick it from his face. It was starting to grow long and fell past his eyes by now. It was a little endearing to see- even something as small as this brought a smile to Keith's face.

He took the bottle from Shiro's hand, ignoring the long whine from Shiro and finishing the rest of it before setting it on the table to stop Shiro from drinking any more. He wasn't going to get drunk from one sip, so he'd be fine, but Shiro needed to stop drinking and if he left any in the bottle Shiro would still try to get it. He couldn't spill it on the floor, either, because of the cats. Drinking it was just the safest option.

"What made you sad, Shiro?"

Shiro looked up when the front door closed and Matt and Lotor were no longer in sight, but then he turned to Keith, and offered a goofy yet tired sort of smile. He leaned closer to him, not even realizing keith had sat him down on the couch as he damn near settled his head against Keith's chest. "I'm sad because I love you," he hummed, offering a snort and a shake of his head. "Which I'm sure you know by now. I must have said it, like, a million-bajillion times... pft... bajillion."

It took him a moment to continue, his suddenly fragile maturity taken down by the simple pronunciation of such a silly little word. Once he was done giggling, however, Shiro leaned up a little to look Keith in the eyes.

"I love you so much, and sometimes I think you might actually love me back... but then there's times I feel like you're just taking advantage of me, and it makes me sad." His goofy smile had soured a bit, and his eyes trailed around in search of another bottle of beer. When there was nothing in sight, Shiro pouted, offering out the tiniest of whines as he slumped down beside Keith, reaching his hands up to dig his palms into the prickling feeling of tears in his eyes.

"Lotor got pissed at me for forgiving you," he whimpered, hands still covering his eyes. "He asked me- hic!- he asked me if that the roles were switched, would you help me like I'm helping you, and I said yes but really... I don't know. I also don't know if I can trust you again... going into Zarkon's mansion is dangerous but if I can't trust you to keep me safe -- because it is really all up to you -- then it's basically suicide to go. And I want to trust you so bad... but last time I trusted you I ended up getting my heart broken." He sniffled a little, pressing his palms so hard into his eyes that he began to see spots of color behind his closed eyelids. Shiro was drunk, but he knew he didn't want to cry -- he wasn't going to let himself. "That's why I'm sad. And that's why I think you should go get me- hic!- another beer..."

"I'm not getting you another beer," Keith said softly, moving one hand to cup Shiro's cheek, making him look at him. "God, Shiro, it hurts to see you like this... You..." he trailed off, sighing, letting his forehead rest against Shiro's. "I love you. I do. I'm just really, really bad at showing it. I will keep you safe. I will always do what I can to keep you safe. I'm not the best at this. I'm not good at any of this, really, but I know that I care about you. I know that I don't want you to get hurt. And all that you can do is trust me that I'll prove it when the time comes."

He reached up, wrapping his arms around Shiro's neck and hugging him tight, just a way to comfort him even if the gesture made discomfort stir in himself. He couldn't help himself. He always just felt so anxious when he held Shiro. Something about it just made him uncomfortable- like he'd fuck everything up in some way. Like it was better never to be close to him because he'd always fuck it all up.

Shiro, on the other hand, couldn't have been more comfortable. He leaned into Keith's hug, all his previous tension melting away at the soft embrace, hot eyes clenched tight as he pressed his head into Keith's neck, breath hitching and stuttering for just a few moments before he gathered himself together. Shiro's arm wrapped itself loosely around Keith's torso, hugging him back. He smiled despite the lump in his throat, huffing out another drunken laugh into Keith's neck.

"You love me," he echoed, giggling a little and then sniffling. "You care about me? That's so nice to hear..." Shiro sniffled, and then he laughed again. "Why didn't you just tell me earlier? Were you waiting until I was... pft... until I was drunk so I'd forget?" He leaned up a little, still hugging Keith but wanting to look him in the eyes. "Will you, uh, promise me that if I forget this, or whatever, that you'll tell me everything. You gotta... you gotta pinkie promise, okay?" Shiro lifted his hand and held out his pinkie. "I don't want to lose this... I needed you to say that so bad..."

Keith laughed softly, looking at Shiro and holding out his pinkie.  
"I promise," he said softly. "I pinkie promise that I won't let you go. That I won't let you lose this. That I won't turn my back on you."

Their fingers linked and, when Keith was sure Shiro was satisfied, he pulled his hand back and settled back in his chair. "Do you feel any better now?" He decided not to answer any of Shiro's earlier questions- about why he waited until now- and instead focused on what he could do to help Shiro feel better now. And hopefully before Matt got back to glare at or judge him.

Shiro nodded, smiling at him. He leaned into Keith, laying his head down on Keith's shoulder and settling his eyes to a close. "I do," he said, nodding a little. He reached for one of Keith's hands, intertwining their fingers together -- feeling the warmth of Keith's palm against his own organic one. "That helped a lot better than Matt's piss beer did. Even though I forgot how fun it was to get drunk. I haven't laughed this much since... since I was high." Shiro succumbed to more giggles, snorting a bit as he tried to gather himself. "That really tells you something about me, doesn't it?"

He sighed, and nestled a little closer, holding Keith's hand a little tighter -- almost like he couldn't get enough of him. "If you love me," Shiro started, a smiled curling at his lips, "does that mean you were lying when you said us having sex meant nothing?"

Keith glanced at him, turned quite a few shades of red and shrugged his shoulders as he averted his eyes.

"I mean," he shrugged again. "I wasn't about to tell you that I'd had sex with you to get out a shit ton of repressed feelings, was I?" he asked as his eyes flicked back to the floor, keeping off of Shiro. "And it killed me to see you pretend like my words didn't hurt so I just put more distance between us." He didn't pull his hand back from Shiro's but he definitely didn't meet his eyes.

What was it about this that suddenly had his heart beating like crazy? Shit...

"We... we should get you sobered up. Come on."

Shiro smiled at him, months of pain suddenly seeming to damper at Keith's little confession. He lifted his head a little and leaned closer, features softening and eyes going an endearing sort of round. "Wait... wait before we do that..." he murmured, swallowing hard. "Can... can we do something first? If I'm sober I won't have the guts to... to even ask..."

Keith looked up at him, brows furrowing a little, stopping and settling down beside him again.

"Can I kiss you, Keith?" Shiro asked voice soft. "Can you kiss me? Just for... for like a second. Please. I haven't stopped thinking about kissing you since you kissed me last night. Or since... or since you kissed me all those months ago."

Looking at him for a few long moments, Keith hesitated but nodded, giving in, and cupped Shiro's cheek to bring their lips together. The kiss was short and Shiro tasted of piss-beer so Keith didn't mind pulling away, but he always seemed to forget exactly how compelling Shiro's lips were. How much he wanted to kiss them every time that he pulled away.

He got to his feet and pulled Shiro up with him.

"Come on," he said. "We can kiss all that you want once I've got you sobered up but right now my main concern is getting you sober." He took Shiro's hand, beginning to lead him through to the kitchen, catching Matt in the hallway and prying Shiro's hand from his, instead latching it around Matt's wrist.

He looked up at Matt, seeing the confused gases that both he and Shiro fixed him with.

"Matt, would you mind getting him sobered up a little?" he asked. "I don't want Shiro to do anything stupid and he keeps asking for me to kiss him but I don't want to do that while he's drunk." He pushed Shiro forwards a little, sending a glance to Matt. "And I don't know how to sober him up. I'm more educated on getting blackout drunk."

Shiro whined and started to reach back out for Keith, but Matt sighed and put a hand on his friend's chest, holding him back. He turned to Keith and simply nodded, not wanting to stir up anymore drama. The idea sounded especially bad with Shiro being too drunk to stop anything.

And while Keith retired to one of the guest bedrooms upstairs, Matt forced Shiro to drink as much water as he could comfortably stomach, and then the two of them passed out on the couch.

Shiro remembered everything when he woke up the next morning, but that didn't mean he didn't have one hell of a hangover.


	23. Taking Action

“Alright Keith,” Shiro said, rolling his shoulders a little bit. “This might be difficult, but I need you to hit me as hard as you can.”

They were in Shiro’s living room, Matt upstairs setting up his surveillance gear. Shiro was wearing his suit, dressed in all his armor aside from his mask. Keith stood across from him, also taking the appearance of the Red Flame, his arms crossed and his head cocked as he watched Shiro shake the tension from his shoulders. The last time he had seen Keith dressed in such a way was when he had unmasked him — it left him a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything about it, though. Shiro just kept his mind off of it. 

The past few days, nearly a week, had been somewhat surreal. Shiro didn’t know what his and Keith’s new dynamic was, really… but he knew it was something entirely different than before after that night Shiro got drunk. Their absent minded touches would linger. Their stares would hold longer. Whenever Matt wasn’t in the room, they would sit closer. They held hands once, even — though Shiro was the one to initiate it, and he had done it under the counter of the breakfast bar so Matt couldn’t see. 

The only thing that seemed to throw Shiro was off was the fact they hadn’t kissed since Shiro was drunk, but he didn’t ask why, still too embarrassed over his display from a few nights ago. 

But Keith was busy in that collection of days. Visiting Zarkon, briefing him on details about the Black Paladin and Takashi Shirogane. Growing closer to the mafia mastermind until he knew when it would be the perfect time to strike. Luckily for them, they didn’t have to wait very long. 

“Zarkon is going to have to see a bloody, exhausted, barely conscious Black Paladin to believe any of this,” Shiro continued. “I’ve already made some bruises with makeup, but I can’t make convincing fake blood with my eyeshadow palette. All you have to do is hit me once or twice — and don’t worry or feel bad. I can take it.” 

Keith had become pretty good friends with Zarkon in this time- and had once even been invited to go out drinking with him. He’d politely declined, insisting that they should save the drinks for celebrating when the Black Paladin was turned in. He honestly just didn’t want to go out for a drink with Zarkon. Thankfully, though, the offer hadn’t been extended again and Zarkon seemed to understand that it should wait until a little later.

Keith looked at Shiro, processing the offer for half a second before he swung his fist hard. He was more than used to getting into fights, and he was already used to beating up Shiro, so it wasn’t difficult for him to throw a punch that did a fair bit of damage. The impact caught Shiro in the jaw and almost knocked him off of his feet, though, so it was a little harder than intended but Keith shrugged it off as it would just help sell it a little more. He extended one hand, catching Shiro’s sleeve and bringing him to stand a little straighter so he wouldn’t lose his balance while he recovered from the hit. Keith looked up at Shiro, deciding to give him a break before he went for the second punch.

“I think it’s only fair that you hit me back before I hit you again,” he said, rubbing his knuckles with one hand where they were beginning to hurt from the impact. He would say that he hoped he hadn’t hurt Shiro too badly but as that was the point of this whole thing, he hoped that he did hurt Shiro pretty badly.

He was hoping that Matt wasn’t going to come up from downstairs to see him punching the shit out of Shiro, though. That wouldn’t go down too well with his track record.   
“I don’t need to be too badly roughed up but I feel like it would help sell it if I’ve been thrown around a fair bit, too.”

Shiro leaned up a little, a hand rubbing at the sore spot on his jaw, trying to blink some of the stars from his eyes still. He had forgotten how good Keith had been at punching. He also hadn’t expected Keith to just punch him right away — Shiro expected at least a little bit of hesitation. 

“Damn,” Shiro said, laughing as he brought his hand back from the forming bruise. The skin had split beneath Keith’s knuckles — Shiro could already feel a thin stream of blood trailing down the side of his neck. “You just went ahead and punched me, huh?” He snickered a little and shook his head, looking back up to Keith. “Next time go for the nose or the eye. Bloody nose or a black eye would be a nicer accessory, right?” 

He was disregarding the fact that Keith had asked him to punch back, every fiber of his being resenting the idea. Shiro still felt guilty over all the blows he had given Keith when he didn’t know it was him underneath Red’s mask. All the time he broke his hand or even dislocated his shoulder. Shiro knew it was nothing rational to feel shameful about, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help himself right then and there as he stood before Keith, flicking his eyes down to his hand and then back up again, unable to curl his fingers into any sort of fist. 

“I… uh… how about you just punch me again?” Shiro asked, offering a crooked smile. “I don’t need to hit you. We can just add more makeup or something.”

Keith frowned.  
“Shiro,” he began, as if he was about to chastise him or argue. Remind him of the urgence of their situation or how badly they needed to make it seem like there had been an actual fight but when he saw the look on Shiro’s face, the puppy begging in his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse and sighed, nodding. “Fine. We can work something else out.”

He flicked his wrist a couple of times as if to shake off the pain in his knuckles before his focus fixed back on Shiro and he prepared himself to strike. His fist shot through the air and while he’d aimed for Shiro’s cheek, he must have been a little too far away because the harsh impact hit his nose instead. He flinched back almost instantly, instantly starting to register the sick little crack that came from the impact. He didn’t get to apologise, though, because the second that he opened his mouth to start his apologies, Matt’s footsteps came running through from the other room. He’d clearly heard the sound of the impact and the cry of pain that had escaped Shiro while he was coming back from getting a drink but he hadn’t expected to see Keith with blood on his knuckles and Shiro with blood dripping from his nose. 

Keith didn’t even get time to start talking to Matt, barely knowing where he’d start if he could. To Matt it just looked like Keith’s temper had gotten the best of him and, for once, it hadn’t.

Shiro was too dazed from the punch to even notice how quickly Matt had been going after Keith, let alone call out for him to stop before he could do some damage. In an instant, Matt had grabbed Keith by the collar and slammed him against the wall, pulling back his own fist and launching it forwards without the slightest bit of hesitation. It was almost as if Matt had been itching for a chance of revenge -- he had swung his punch directly into Keith’s mouth and jaw, splitting his lip wide open. Keith’s bottom lip had already swelled, gushing blood down his chin by the time Matt had pulled his own bloodied fist back for another blow, but luckily Shiro had caught up with the situation by then. 

He moved forwards and grabbed ahold of Matt’s arm, wrapping one of his own around Matt’s chest and literally dragging him back from Keith against the wall. His breath seemed haggard in his chest when Shiro pulled him closer, his heart beat racing as he thrashed against Shiro’s prosthetic hold. 

“Matt, stop-” Shiro started, voice a bit nasally with all of the blood clogging up one of his nostrils. 

Matt gave a growland struggled even more, cutting Shiro off. “He hit you Shiro!” he cried, flaming eyes trained hard on Keith before him, who was grabbing at Matt’s wrist and digging his nails in to push his hand away. 

“Because I asked him to!” Shiro said back, voice loud and firm. “We’re just getting ready for the mission! I asked him to hit me a few times to make it believable. Calm down!” 

He felt Matt freeze up in his grip, going stock still once he had processed exactly what Shiro had said. He was silent for a moment, huffing and puffing, gaze flicking down to the floor as he thought over it all. It was almost a minute before anyone else said anything, Keith wiping away at the blood from his lip, Shiro sniffling back the blood from his nose, Matt growling and struggling in Shiro’s strong grip.  
“He didn't have to hit you so hard,” Matt finally seethed. Despite his words and his tone, he felt his friend slump and relax a bit in his arms, and Shiro released his hold. Matt took the liberty to turn around, reaching up with his hands -- one to cup the side of his face and the other to inspect Shiro’s nose. His frown turned bitter at the sight of it, even more so when he touched it and Shiro flinched. “You fucking broke his nose, Keith.”   
“I didn’t mean to-”  
“What?” Shiro cried, eyes shooting open rather wide. The shock of the punch still numbed his face, but he could feel the excessive amount of blood spill down his lips, coating over his lips and clinging to the curve of his chin. It hurt, of course, but he didn't think it hurt that bad. Not bad enough to be broken, anyways. “Oh my God. Does it look bad? Like crooked? I can’t have a crooked nose, Matt!”

Matt rolled his eyes a little. “Oh shut up, Prince Charming, it’s not that bad. It’s just your septum -- the swelling will go down in a few days,” he said, voice still a little sharp with his nerves and previous aggression. He turned around, glaring at Keith for a second or so before offering a low growling sort of sigh. “I would say Shiro should get to hit you back, but it looks like I beat him to the punch. Literally.” He shook his head a little, glancing at the both of them before slumping his shoulders. 

“Sorry. I just saw blood and Keith’s fist and my vision went red,” Matt muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just kinda… wound up. Anxious for tonight, I guess.”

Shiro shook his head a little, lifting a hand to sorrowfully prod at his broken nose. “It’s fine,” he said past his pouting lips. “I didn't really want to hit Keith, but he needed to be roughed up a little too. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but you punching Keith like that was kinda perfect.” Shiro looked over Matt, and locked eyes with Keith. “But really, are you okay?”

Keith answered Shiro by spitting out blood and then, immediately after, shrugging it off like it was nothing by saying,  
“Yeah, it’s fine. We should get going soon.” And he spit a little more blood, grimacing, before pulling on his mask and looking over to Shiro. “Whenever you’re ready.”

In all honesty, that punch had stung like a motherfucker. It killed, burning Keith’s lip and sending pain up from his mouth whenever he spoke. Hell, he was pretty sure that his tooth had gone through his lower lip to burst it, which was agony. But he had given Matt a split lip before so he couldn’t bitch at him about it and, as Shiro had said, it was pretty perfect for this situation. They did need it to look like they’d had a fight and Shiro was far too cowardly to hit him back.

He looked up at Shiro again after a moment, brows furrowing and concern clouding his features now that Shiro wouldn’t be able to see it.  
“Sorry I broke your nose,” he said after a few moments. “It wasn’t where I was aiming. I swear I wasn’t trying to break your nose.” But he didn’t wait for a response before he was beginning to the door. He debated taking off his mask for this bit but honestly, he didn’t expect that the reactions he’d get from people would be too much different than from normal so he didn’t see the point. And the mask hid the guilt he felt for hitting Shiro.

Shiro blinked a little as he watched Keith start for the door, a little startled that they were leaving so soon. He nodded his head a little anyways, patting around for his mask and clipping it to his waist. He reached a hand up and made one final, desperate attempt at wiping away the blood, only managing to smear it across his cheek and his gloved hand. He frowned, resisting the urge to spit out the blood that had gotten into his mouth — the carpet had already been ruined enough from the punching and Keith’s spitting — and hurried forwards to Keith’s side. 

“It’s okay,” Shiro said, sniffling back more blood. “There’s, uh, a lot of blood. Zarkon will like that.” 

He reached up a hand and lightly grasped onto Keith’s bicep, stopping him from stepping out the door. Shiro called a light goodbye to Matt, and told him he’d have the comms on by the time he was in the car, and then turned back to Keith. It felt so odd to be standing beside the fully suited Red Flame — so off to be ducking down beside him and preparing to run over plans and procedure. 

“We’re going to go down the fire escape stairwell. It’s at the end of the hall,” Shiro said, nodding his head the opposite direction of the elevators. It was ten at night on a Tuesday— the apartments were quiet. They would have to be quieter sneaking through the hall, but Shiro had done it plenty of times before. “That’ll take us right to the parking garage. Matt’s already disabling the cameras, I’m sure. We’ll get in the car and be on our way. You, uh, you can drive if you want to.” 

Shiro could feel Keith shoot him a look at the last little statement — he never let Keith drive him anywhere. He had only ever sat in the passenger seat for Matt, and that was only when he was injured. It took a lot of trust… which Shiro figured was why he had suggested that. The mission they were about to do took a lot of trust too. 

“We get there, you cuff me or something — I’ve got restraints in the back of the car that I use when I catch guys on the street and stuff — and then you take me in,” Shiro said, nodding his head. “Then it’s acting time. We went over basic scenarios, but a lot of it is going to be improv. You have to keep your temper and… I have to keep mine. But we can do it…” Shiro trailed off, looking down to the ground for a moment. Then he shook his head and flicked his gaze back up, smiling a bloody sort of grin. “Yeah. We can do it. Everything sound good so far?”

Keith glanced at him, hesitating a little, but nodded.  
“I’m going to have to tie you up before we even get you into the car,” he said. “I don’t want to have to explain to Zarkon why you were fully unrestrained before you walked in his office. And I’ll need you to be in the back- but I’ll make sure you’re sat in the middle so you can see the road and I’ll drive safe.” The promise was a little… unsafe coming from Keith, known for driving recklessly and having driven drunk barely over a week ago, but he seemed satisfied with what he’d said and was content to leave it there. 

He was still nervous. There were so many things that could go wrong that Lotor had brought up to Keith in private instead of telling Shiro. He was given the rundown on Zarkon’s behavioural patterns before and during an attack, not to mention that he had to keep his distance, not to overstep, not to encourage too much- he was going to be walking a tightrope made of piano wire if he wanted to keep Shiro safe and that wasn’t even the most intimidating part. The most intimidating part was if Shiro got on Zarkon’s bad side, or if something went even slightly wrong, one pull of a trigger was all it would take for Shiro to be gone, Keith to be wrapped up in a mafia, for Matt and Lotor to hate him… everything. It could all go so horribly.

Perhaps that was why Keith was keeping his mask on. He didn’t want to have to wear a brave face when he was going through with something as precautious as this but he didn’t want to have Shiro freaking out on him because he was freaking out too.

Shiro looked at him for a second, eyes going a little wide. He didn’t really know exactly why or how getting restrained helped with anything… but then again that might have just been his reluctance to be so helpless in a car. In the backseat, no less. He didn’t argue, however, and instead turned his slight paler face down to the ground and nodded, before slipping out into the hall. Shiro didn’t say anything until they had snuck their way to the staircase through the empty hall and shut the door behind them. From there it had been nothing but a cleared out pathway to the cars and the empty lot where Keith could cuff up Shiro. 

Or… tie up. However Keith had put it.

“What do you mean tie me up?” Shiro had asked as he descended the staircase. As he walked, he dragged his mask against the cement walls around them, scratching it and his armor up a bit to make it seem like he had gotten into a fight. He wondered if he was going to have to take it all off anyways— Lotor had said something about Zarkon preferring his prisoners completely helpless. Shiro was sure he’d lose his sword but… he didn’t know how he would feel in just his rather tight undersuit with nothing else. “Wouldn’t some cuffs just work fine?”

Keith was moving a little quicker down the stairs, sliding along the banisters, using some guise of eagerness to mask his anxiety. He stopped off when Shiro spoke to him, turning back to look up at him.  
“I wish,” he said, waiting for Shiro to catch up a little before he’d start to speak. “You’re famous. You’re known for being difficult to trap and harder to fight. After you killed Sendak, as Zarkon believes, he realised how much of a threat you were. When he finds out it’s you, with a prosthetic arm, suddenly having just handcuffs will be suspicious. Your hand can heat up, move faster than any normal hand could, or you could even break the chains. I’ll need to restrain you properly, full body, and then I’ll be carrying you inside just to sell it a little more.”

He turned back to continue walking, spotting his favoured red car in the garage and starting toward it. He waited until the orange lights flashed to show that it was unlocked before pulling the car boot open, taking out some rope and a pair of handcuffs.  
“But I’ll put them on you for good measure, okay?” He flashed a little wink before he gestured for Shiro to get into the car, saying something about it being more comfortable if he was sat down before he was restrained. And, due to the likeliness of Zarkon having him tied to a chair, it would prove convenient there too.

“Carry me?” Shiro mused, smiling a little. He leaned onto the side of the car, cocking his head a little. “I would say you couldn’t but… you did carry me back when Sendak beat me up.” He thought about it a moment, ignoring the chill that the memories brought back to try and remember just how Keith had picked him up so easily. Shiro gave a soft hum, furrowing his brow a little. “You’re a lot stronger than you look, did you know that?”   
“Did I? I pride myself on it, Shiro.”

Shiro was stalling getting into the car— he hoped it hadn’t been that obvious, though. Just the thought of sitting in the backseat made his skin crawl. It was rare enough to not be the one driving… but to sit in the backseat? Shiro could barely remember the last time he had after the crash. Maybe the drive from the hospital and to his late parents’ mansion, and then ever since it had been the passenger seat until he could drive himself around. 

“But okay, sounds like a good plan,” he continued, nodding. “Should I start taking my armor off? The, uh, back seat of the car isn’t too big. It might get kinda awkward if I try to take everything off in there.”

“Trust me,” Keith said, smiling a little as he moved over to Shiro, coaxing him into the car and humming a little as he began working at the armoured plates. “You don’t need to worry about taking them off.” He pulled the car door shut behind him to keep away any potential onlookers, removing each panel from Shiro’s suit and unclasping every part of it.

He removed the plates around his biceps, then his chest, and slowly made his way downwards before he decided to move onto tying Shiro up. He wrapped the rope around his ankles first, then slowly up to tie around his calves, cutting off a section there and tying it. Then he tied his thighs, cutting and tying the rope a little more firmly than necessary there- then shooting a glance up to Shiro.  
“It’s not uncomfortable, is it?” he asked worriedly, referring to the rope tying him up. “Well- I mean, not more uncomfortable than it would be to be tied with rope. Not that… not that you’d know, of course.” He paused a minute, faltering. “Or that I’d know. I- I don’t- I’ve never been tied up in my life so I wouldn’t know either.”

Flawless recovery. Luckily for him, Shiro was pretty innocently minded and wouldn’t know about it enough to see right through him. He could almost hear Matt groaning through the comm, though.

Shiro peered down at him, brows furrowed with a curious sort of confusion. There was no denying he was a bit uncomfortable the moment he settled down in the back of the car, but the second Keith had begun slowly easing off the plates of his armor, slow hands moving up the curvature of his muscles underneath the smooth material of his undersuit, he found his focus trained on something other than the anxious flutter of his heart. 

“It, uh, feels okay,” Shiro murmured, face growing a little red. He flexed his leg muscles a bit, testing the strange knots Keith had tied them up with. They pulled taut around his calves and his thighs. He didn't know why, but the feeling prompted an involuntary swallow, and another flush of heat to rise up to his cheeks. He looked back up to Keith and cocked his head a little. “Why are you, uh, going so slow?” 

Biting back the urge to say ‘I’m savouring it’, Keith turned his gaze to Shiro.  
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said after a few minutes. “So I’m going slow so that I can make sure I don’t do too much damage unnecessarily. I’m not going to do this up too tight but I can’t have it too loose.” He took Shiro’s hands, moving them to be behind his back and starting to tie his wrists- even if that meant that he pressed up close to Shiro, chest-to-chest, learning over his shoulder to keep his eyes on the restraints. Their clothes rubbed together- he was sure Matt could hear it, which was why after a few moments he heard an irritated ‘What the fuck is going on?’ from Shiro’s helmet, biting back a laugh about it as he tugged the rope taught and moved back. 

He just had to do Shiro’s biceps around his chest, keeping his arms pinned, before they would be set enough to begin driving. Before Keith would take Shiro to what could be the place of his death. Potentially even of both of their deaths. It made his stomach churn just thinking about it.  
“Almost done,” he told Shiro instead of answering Matt, offering a little smile. “Sorry it’s taking so long.”

Shiro shook his head a bit too earnestly, eyes wide and dazed. Having Keith so close -- so unconsciously intimate -- seemed to make his head spin. He tried to ignore the heat pooling at the bottom of his stomach, still not quite understanding what about Keith tying him up was making him so flustered, but he couldn’t stop the steady flush that moved from his cheeks all the way down to his shoulders beneath the undersuit. 

“It’s, uh, it’s okay,” he spluttered, offering a nervous sort of laugh. “You’re just making sure it’s done right.” 

“Shiro, do you really not get it?” 

Matt’s voice was loud enough from Shiro’s helmet, still latched to his side, for Shiro to hear it. He furrowed his brow and shook his head a little, looking back up to Keith who was already readying up the final bits of rope. “What does Matt mean?” he asked, confused. The question earned a groan from Matt on the comm. “What don’t I get?” 

Keith looked at him, hesitated for a few long moments, and then chose that feigning ignorance would be the best option here. So, with a shrug of his shoulders, he looked up at Shiro.  
“Beats me,” he said, wrapping the rope a few times around his chest and tying it tight. “There. I’ll put your helmet back on you and we can start en route, okay? But if you want me to pull over so you can breathe, or because you need a break, just let me know. I’m not going to force you to sit in the back and endure hell in your head. Not even if it means pulling over every five minutes.”

Another little hesitation and Keith pressed a kiss to Shiro’s forehead.  
“Trust me,” he said again, not waiting for a response before he slid Shiro’s helmet back on and got out of the car, getting into the driver’s seat. He put the key into the ignition and turned it, letting the car jolt to life with a loud purr- and sending a worried glance back at Shiro.  
“Tell me when you’re ready,” he said to him. “I won’t go until you give me the all-clear.”

Shiro looked at him through his visor, the presence of the kiss still lingering on his forehead. He wanted to ask Keith to come back there with him again, to keep kissing him and to keep speaking to him with that soft, concerned voice that made Shiro’s worries simply melt from his system -- that cleared his head and smoothed out the coils of panic curled about in his chest cavity. But Shiro kept quiet, offering the tiniest of nods, trying to keep his breath from growing trembly at the sound of the engine. Matt, who must have heard Shiro’s change in breathing, told him in a quiet yet firm voice that he was going to be fine -- that Keith was going to get him there safely. Shiro just wondered bleakly if Matt really believed that, or if it was him just trying to settle Shiro’s nerves. 

“I’m ready,” Shiro said, swallowing hard. He tried to adjust himself a little, the ropes pulling tight across his chest and against his thighs. He gave a low sigh and gave up, considering himself impressed with Keith’s ropework as he laid his head back against the cool car window. “Just… please be careful. Watch the intersections. Be aware of your surroundings. Please.” 

“Shiro,” Keith said, his voice soft as he began to pull out of the parking space, looking back over his shoulder both for caution’s sake and to glance at the nervous wreck behind him. “Listen to me. I would never, ever do anything to harm you in this way. I would never put you through psychological trauma like this. Not on top of a wound that’s been festering for years. You are safe. You will be safe with me behind the wheel. Nothing will happen.”

He reached over to the radio and turned it on, letting music begin to play to work as a distraction for Shiro.  
“I’ve driven a more dangerous vehicle in all kinds of situations and I’m fine. I’m going to be driving a safe car as carefully as I possibly could be.” He pulled out of the parking space and began to drive, beginning to make his way out of the parking lot. “Take deep breaths, listen to the music. Talk to me if you need to, but getting into your own head with this will make everything seem worse than it is.”

Shiro nodded again, trying to follow Keith’s instructions as he brought a slow yet deep breath through his lips and into his chest, and then sighed it back out again. He had to repeat the motion a few more times before his head was clear enough to talk to him. Even then, Shiro could only mumble out the very first idea that popped into his head, the white static of worry preventing his filter from helping him choose his words carefully. 

“What are you going to do after we take care of Zarkon?” Shiro asked in a shaky sort of tone, the rushed sentence just barely a blurt. “I’m going to keep doing vigilante work. Break off the thing I have with Curtis too, I think. It’s what’s best for him, with it being one sided and all.” His breath hitched a little when Keith drove over the speed bump and then out into the streets of the city. He had to snap his eyes shut, suddenly wishing he could strap his seatbelt on, even if he had been lying longways across the backseat. 

Shiro quickly tried to continue on with whatever he had been talking about, simply letting the first things that came to his mind roll off his tongue without a second thought. “Maybe we can keep whatever it is going on between us… going?” He only felt a pinch of regret at that, eyes still clenched tight. “Like, I mean, we’re not dating or anything but I like you and… and you said that you like me-” Love, Shiro. You both used the word love, “-so I don’t know if that means anything or not. I don’t know.”

Keith hesitated, almost every part of his willpower crumbling at that. He almost wanted to turn around, to go back, to tell Zarkon that all his theories were wrong and put off the job until he was killed for it. Honestly, it seemed easier than listening to this while fully aware of what they could be getting into.  
“Shiro,” Keith managed to speak after a long while of awkward and uncomfortable silence between them. He was so glad that the radio was playing. “You… you shouldn’t say that stuff right now. I know that you’re worrying, and you’re clinging to anything that could keep you calm but that should wait.”

He flicked his indicator, the car slowing to a stop by a red light.  
“If you still want to, you can ask me again after the mission. But just… for both of our sakes, let it wait. Let it wait until we’re both back from this job and we’re no longer in danger. I want it to wait.”

He wasn’t sure if he could handle a relationship, anyway. He’d never had one before, that much was obvious just from how he carried himself and how he acted when Shiro presented him with his feelings, but… but a relationship as serious with this, with someone like Shiro?

The thought of it, the absurdity of it, made his stomach twist uncomfortably. He debated doing something stupid like jerking the wheel to get Shiro’s mind off of it or to get himself out of this situation but he wasn’t that much of a dick. Not even if the idea of it was more tempting than he’d admit to it being.  
“Just let it wait. I promise, if you ask me again after the mission, I’ll give you a proper answer but not right now.” He gripped so tight to the wheel his knuckles turned white. “Not right now.”

Shiro, his fists clenching and unclenching behind his back, the ropes beginning to dig into his muscles in a way he was sure would leave marks, sighed gently, swallowing against his dry throat. “Okay,” he said, fluttering his eyes open to take a quick look at their surroundings. 

Of course, with his luck, they had been at a four way intersection the moment he had looked around, Keith once again easing on the gas to continue on forwards once the light turned green. Shiro instantly looked both ways from his spot in the back, the image of an armored truck barrelling down the street and ignoring the light change shooting through his memory with such a jolting shock it felt as though he’d been slapped across the face. His breath hitched and his eyes snapped closed again. 

“Damn,” he whispered shakily. He gave a huff of a laugh, trying to psych his trauma out with fake humor. “I hate this. I hate this so much.” 

Matt’s voice was in his head. “I’m watching the traffic, Shiro. I’ll tell you if anything seems off from the cams I’ve hacked into. You’re okay.” 

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he said, half agreeing with Matt and half assuring himself. “You don’t have to worry about that, Matt. It’s okay. I’m just being stupid.” He paused a moment or so, swallowing hard. “But uh… Keith, it’s not that much further is it?”

“You see that big building?” Keith asked, pointing to a tall building made mostly of glass with a large, jagged symbol stuck on the front in purple. “That’s where we’re going. It’ll take about a minute to get there, alright? So take a few breaths and close your eyes again if you want to.” He sent a glance at Shiro, before immediately fixing his attention back on the road and continuing steadily toward that tower. He didn’t want to go. The more he ran over the plan in his head the more bumps came up and the more times they were caught out or killed or whatever else and he didn’t think that he could handle that.

But he didn’t have a choice so he just kept on driving, deciding it was going to be safe to ignore how much his stomach twisted every time he thought of getting into that place. He was just going to have to bite his tongue and hope Shiro didn’t catch onto his discomfort. If he did, and Matt did, it would throw off all little morsels of trust he’d gotten. That he’d worked hard over the last week to try to prove himself worthy of. He already knew that he was on thin ice.

Shiro nodded, taking a deep breath and unconsciously holding it. He hadn’t even realized until he felt the car roll to a stop and Keith shift the gears up front, the whole vehicle easing down into nothing but the purr of the engine as he parked. It was then he finally registered the lightheadedness and the pain in his chest, and Shiro finally exhaled, coughing a little as he tried to steady out his breathing. He fluttered his eyes open, blinking away the blurry glaze that clouded his vision after clenching his eyes so tightly — his gaze traveling up the the building they were parked beside.

He didn’t have the time nor the mind to study it properly when Keith had pointed it out before, but then he could see that it was a handsome looking mansion of sorts. Taller and wider — fenced in with an iron gate and squeezed between the other buildings of the city. It was an old building. Shiro could tell by the architecture and the patterns carved into the strong material of the walls. A fountain poked up over he fence from the courtyard. Marble statues, likely commissions, guarded the front gates. If Shiro hadn’t been so nervous, both from the ride and the soon-to-be meeting, he might have taken a moment or so to drool over the lavish quality of the building before him. He had seen it before on one or two of his drives about the city, but he always figured it was some sort of city-owned museum of some sort. 

“Remind me to compliment Zarkon on his house when we get in there,” Shiro said, trying to joke a little even with his quiet sort of voice. “It’s beautiful. If I get out of this alive, I might just try to buy it. If Lotor doesn’t want it, I guess.”

“I don’t think that’ll be near number one on our priorities list,” Keith began as he fixed his own mask on a little tighter. “But I won’t object if you try to bring it up. Come on, we don’t want to waste time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and began to tap in Zarkon’s contact number, texting him to say he was going to be heading inside, to prepare for him.

And by the time the message was sent, Keith was able to pull him over to the car door and lift him into his arms in a bridal carry. He held him to his chest, keeping the male securely in his arms as he began to the door, pushing it open and going to the desk. He exchanged a few words with the man sat there before he was going to the elevator, Shiro still in his arms. He closed the doors, the two of them alone in the elevator, and set Shiro on the floor after a moment.  
“How are you feeling?” he asked softly, learning down to sit beside him. “This is the last time I’m going to be nice to you before I have to pretend that I hate you, so just let me know if there’s anything I could do.” They’d only have about thirty seconds before they’d arrive at their stop. He didn’t like the way his mind swarmed with nausea upon realising how close they were to it all.

Shiro looked at him, finally calmed enough the anxious tone of Keith’s voice. He wanted to reach up and touch the side of Keith’s face — to even comb his fingers through his hair or even tuck it behind his ear, but Shiro’s arms were bound tight. The moment he tried to move, biceps flexing, the ropes just grew tighter. Shiro just had to settle with laying his masked head against Keith’s chest, curling up as close as he could in Keith’s arms. He could just barely hear Keith’s heartbeat through the armor of Shiro’s helmet… even so it brought him comfort. 

“We’re going to be okay, Keith,” Shiro assured lightly, offering out a long, shaky breath. “But on… on the very off chance that something happens, I just want you to know that I love you and I don’t blame you for any of this. But it’s okay because nothing is going to happen.” 

Shiro didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t so sure. Both for the sake of Keith’s nerves, and the slight stirring of hot fear that burned his own stomach. Matt has gone quiet in his ear — Shiro was sure that he had already masked his signal in case Zarkon would take the comm. He would be able to hear them, but Shiro wouldn’t be able to hear him. Shiro thought about saying something to him too, but the elevator was moving fast. They were running out of time. 

Keith smiled a little, studying Shiro for a few moments before he tugged both of their masks up just enough to lean in and press their lips together, careful and slow. It was definitely an impulsive move, and remarkably bold as the elevator camera was right behind them, but Keith couldn’t bring himself to care. All that he wanted to do was kiss Shiro. To show him every single emotion that he’d held back. Nothing expelled the negative and anxious thoughts from his body like kissing Shiro did. 

But he pulled back soon, even if every fibre of his being wanted him to go back and grab Shiro’s shirt and pull him in for another kiss. He fixed Shiro’s helmet, then pulled away and fixed his own before pulling Shiro back into his arms and starting down the hall to Zarkon’s office, banging on the door with his elbow to announce his arrival before he pushed his way inside, throwing Shiro to the floor in front of Zarkon’s desk.  
“Black Paladin, captured,” he said with a triumphant grin, pushing the door closed behind him and learning against it, arms folded over his chest. The bag that contained Shiro’s armour was then slung by the door to be out of the way, so it wouldn’t be deemed suspicious. 

Shiro, still a little dazed from the kiss, couldn’t help but utter out a surprised kind of yelp when he had hit the floor. He landed on his side, tied in such a way he couldn’t even push up on his elbows to look up at the man Keith had basically tossed him towards. Instead, Shiro struggled for just a moment against the ropes, and then he relaxed, heart beating heavily in his chest — breath caught tight in his throat. Shiro peered up from the floor the best he could, catching sight of a tall desk, handsomely carved and expensively made. He waited with that bated sort of breath for another moment or two, his quiet outcry from before settling in the atmosphere in a way that made his skin crawl. 

And then the silence was interrupted by one of the scariest voices Shiro had ever heard. 

“Excellent work, Keith,” Zarkon hummed. “You’ve exceeded your expectations.”

Shiro heard footsteps, watching a pair of expensive shoes stepped out from behind the desk before him. Before he knew it, a hand was reaching down for his face, and Shiro was too restricted to pull away from it. Zarkon grabbed onto the jaw of Shiro’s mask, harshly tipping his head upwards in a way that made Shiro’s neck pop. Shiro managed to keep from recoiling at the maliciously gleeful expression twisted into Zarkon’s scarred face by flicking his eyes away. He wanted to reach up and push Zarkon’s hand away — he wanted to reel backwards, away from his vile touch, even if he had only been touching his helmet then. But the ropes were tight and Shiro’s head was tipped back enough. He was helpless. 

“Ah, it pleases me to see such a pest finally taken care of. Trembling and weak in my grasp. I wonder what look of fear you must wear under the mask.” Zarkon’s voice was like metal gears rumbling beneath the hood of an old truck — deep and grating. Raspy, almost. Shiro could hear a few years of avid smoking. He reached his other hand near the ear of Shiro’s mask, clawed fingers— much like Sendak’s—searching for the button to release its gears. “Now is the time to place your bets.”

The guards by the door each gave an obligatory laugh. Shiro wondered bleakly if Keith had laughed along with them as Zarkon’s finger clicked upon the button of his mask. There was a gentle hiss of releasing pressure as the gears relaxed, and the mask fell slack. Zarkon slipped it off rather easily after that, the cool air rushing to meet Shiro’s clammy, blood crusted skin. His eyes were still trained on the floor, body tending and flinching when Zarkon tossed the mask aside and it clattered rather loudly on the floor. Shiro couldn’t see Zarkon’s expression. His reaction. He didn’t want to see it — even after preparing himself for days prior. 

There was a chilling sort of laugh that echoed about the room. Shiro tried not to let it scrape a shiver down his spine. Instead he let his expression stay blank. Stoic. They had gone over exactly how Shiro had to act and what he would have to say and what he wouldn’t, but Shiro knew deep down in his gut he couldn’t let himself act afraid. He couldn’t let Zarkon savor any sort of weakness — anymore than he already had, that is. 

“Takashi Shirogane,” he mused, voice slow. Tantalizing, almost. “He was one of your lead suspects, wasn’t he, Keith?” Zarkon looked up at his prized Red Flame at the door, smiling a malicious sort of grin. “He is also that millionaire I always see you hanging out with on the news. How did he react when his stray turned out to be his enemy?” 

Shiro tensed. He hadn’t expected Zarkon to know about their relationship outside of the Galra and crime fighting. Fortunately, Zarkon took the hitching of his breath and the slight little flinch as a different sort of reaction. 

“Oh? Didn’t you know, Takashi? Keith works for me — he sets all his fires for me, too,” he hummed in an eerily innocent tone. Shiro felt the hand holding his chin and jaw tighten, sharp nails digging into his skin. Zarkon turned his head to the side, trying to catch his eye. “And look me in the eyes while I’m talking to you, hm? It’s just common courtesy.”

Shiro grit his teeth. He was starting to hate all of that more than he hated the drive there. Zarkon’s voice was starting to get to him. The panic accompanying the ropes that held him so snugly was starting to get to him. He knew he had a script and he knew he had a part to play, but everything was building up. His skin was crawling, his heart was racing, his jaw muscles were beginning to ache with how tightly he clenched his teeth to bite back any sort of comment. 

He hoped Keith would say something soon. He could cling to that. 

But when Keith spoke, it was nothing like what Shiro was expecting him to hear. His voice now, instead of the way he usually spoke to Shiro, was full of malice and sharpness as he shrugged, learning back against the wall.  
“Drink in the truth, Kash,” he said in a slick little purr, even going far enough to throw in the nickname. “You were wrong about me. So was everybody else who ever thought I could have been anything but a lost cause. Here I found people who let me be what I want, and I want to set fires. I want to be an arsonist. I’m the terror of this town now, and without you, I’m going to be the worst thing that this town has ever faced.”

He needed to sell this. Sure, there was part of Keith’s mind saying that he was just trying to sell a malicious illusion, but the rest of his mind was feeding in the truth. He loved acting like this. Even as he hid it, he loved to act like this. He loved the way that Shiro trembled under his gaze, the little whimper of pain that came from him whenever Zarkon would tighten his grip. The way that each word just rolled off of his tongue and sounded far more tempting than any good thing he’d ever said, ever told Shiro he’d do. There was a reason why he’d chosen to take to arson instead of something like pottery. The destruction, crushing something, crumbling ash between his fingers, that was always so much better than the slow and dreary process of creating something.

Maybe that was what drove him to take this mocking further.

Watching as Zarkon released Shiro, Keith pushed up from the wall, walking over to Shiro and putting his foot on his chest, forcing him onto his back and applying pressure. He leant in close.  
“Now be a good boy. Maybe we can organise for you to have a slightly more merciful torture if you’re perfectly behaved. In fact, I might even ask to keep you.” His eyes turned to Zarkon, the grin on Keith’s lips almost equally as malicious. Was this always how he acted around Zarkon? He couldn’t remember when he’d started acting like this. He couldn’t recall if there was ever a time where he didn’t. “Whaddaya say, boss? Any chance I could keep the Puppy for myself? He’d be a real good pet to keep around.”

Shiro’s eyes were wide as he looked up at Keith, feeling that weight press down on his chest -- the slight bending of his rib cage just winding his panic further. To hear Keith call him ‘Kash’ in such a way when every time prior it had only been a nicknamed used with soft, gentle tones and accompanied with a smile. To hear someone say they would hurt the city in Keith’s voice. To hear Keith taunt him with threats of torture. That nickname. Puppy. If Shiro didn’t know any better, he would have guessed Keith wasn’t acting. 

For one dreadful moment, Shiro almost believed it. How could he not? Keith had suddenly gotten so cold… so… so unlike what he had just been moments ago in the elevator. A flush of ice cold terror rushed through Shiro’s veins, his blood freezing over at the idea that Keith might have been faking all of it — that he might have lied about wanting to take down Zarkon. 

But then the foot on Shiro’s chest let up a little. It must have been the expression of full blown horror reflected across Shiro’s face — maybe the tears that prickled in his eyes. Keith was looking down at him through the visor of his own mask. All Shiro could see was a soulless black glare, but it was Keith under there. Keith, who was easing up on the pressure of his foot just to calm Shiro down a little, even if Zarkon had been standing right there beside them. Keith, who kissed him so sweetly in the elevator just moments before. 

Keith. It was just Keith. 

Calm down, Shiro. Remember the plan.

Zarkon’s voice sounded out somewhere above him. “I suppose it depends on how fun it is to torture him,” he said. Shiro tried to block him out, focusing on the idea that he had Keith there with him to keep himself calm and focused. “He’s given me so many headaches. I just want to return the favor.”

Footsteps. Shiro tracked them to the other side of the room, listening as Zarkon dragged one of the chairs he kept near the back wall with him. He set it in front of the desk, drumming his nails on the metal surface in the most irritating of ways. Shiro closed his eyes and gave a deep sort of sigh, the exhale trembly and a little struggled with Keith’s foot on his chest. 

“He’s not very talkative, hm?” Zarkon snickered, the taps of his nails still sounding out on the metal of the chair. “We can change that, Takashi. Tie him up to the chair, Keith. And maybe not with such… interesting ropework this time.”

Keith looked up at Zarkon, hesitating a little before sighing and nodding. He lifted Shiro back up and pinned him to the chair after a moment. One of the guards by the door handed him some rope and he was quick to have it wrapped around Shiro’s biceps, doubling over the rope around his chest, then cutting and tying it before he began to tie around his stomach. He smiled, studying him as he knelt down and tied Shiro’s ankles to the legs of the chair.  
“He really isn’t talkative,” Keith mused as he stood, setting one foot on the chair between Shiro’s legs and learning in close, cupping Shiro’s jaw. “Won’t you say a little something? Just for me?” 

He ran his thumb over Shiro’s bottom lip- something that would seem like taunting to others, but that he wanted to be comforting to Shiro. He reached up with his other hand and tugged his mask off, throwing it aside. “How about when we’re face to face? Just you and me, ignore everyone else. Tell me a little something sweet, like you used to. Tell me this isn’t me, that I’d never do this. Plead, even, that this is all a joke. Whimper with that puppy-whine you always talk in when you don’t get your way.”

Shiro tried to glare at him, refraining from leaning into his head into Keith’s touch and instead sitting as still and tense as he could. He couldn’t deny that the sight of Keith’s face had calmed him a bit more -- the look in his eyes was nowhere near as cold as the one from his mask visor. He frowned, nonetheless, flicking his eyes down to the floor. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Shiro muttered, voice very quiet. He ignored the huff of laughter the comment earned from Zarkon, who had been stalking about the two of them, watching with the eyes of a predator. “Now get your hands off of me.” 

He, rather characteristically, hoped he hadn’t been too harsh as he watched Keith pull his hand away, desperately missing the warmth of his touch. Zarkon gave a low whistle as Keith stepped back, away from the chair and away from Shiro. Shiro tensed when he felt one of Zarkon’s inhuman hands lay itself on his shoulder, squeezing tightly -- almost painfully -- as he stepped past. The hand left him however as Zarkon made his way in front of the chair, and instead fell to his side, curled into a tight fist. Shiro’s heart was racing. Part of him wanted to pretend it wasn’t, but the other part begged for him to just break already -- Lotor’s warning about Zarkon’s cockiness hanging heavily in his head. 

“Takashi,” the monster before him purred. He was tall, tall like Sendak was. Dressed in an expensive pinstripe suit with silvery purple decals, the kerchief folded up into twin triangle peaks a deep magenta and rather striking against the rich black material of his jacket. “I hope you understand that I will not tolerate such harsh tones. Speak in such a way again…” he trailed off, holding out a hand. One of the guards hurried forwards without a verbal command, setting a small blade into his boss’s hand. Zarkon twirled it in his hands, the blade flashing in the light as he brandished it towards Shiro. “And you’ll lose a finger.” 

Shiro didn't respond. He stayed silent to keep his head… and apparently his finger too. Shiro ducked his head down, focusing his gaze onto Zarkon’s reflective shoes. He supposed that was the best tactic -- just be boring. Unresponsive and stoic. Maybe then Zarkon would grow tired of his listless victim and pass him over to Keith. 

He was wrong. 

Shiro didn't even know what had been happening until his head had been wrenched back up by a tight fist in his hair, and the blade had been pressed up close to his throat. Fire laced up Shiro’s scalp at Zarkon’s curling, vice-like fingers pulling at his hands -- the pain strong enough to draw out a strained sort of whimper from his lips. His throat bobbed tentatively against the blade as he breathed. A blade that seemed sharp enough to split a hair in two right down the middle. 

“What did I say about looking me in the eye, boy?” Zarkon snarled, dark gaze trained onto Shiro’s widened eyes.

When Shiro didn't respond, Zarkon drew the knife down from Shiro’s throat and pressed the tip into the curve of his collarbone. There was a bite of pain as the blade pierced Shiro’s undersuit, but then Zarkon dragged the blade down Shiro’s chest -- ripping the suit along with Shiro’s skin. Shiro bit back his sounds of pain, only allowing sniveling bits of yelps to escape in his harsh breathing. Once Zarkon had grown satisfied, he pulled the knife back and flung Shiro’s blood from the blade in one flick of his wrist. 

“I asked you a question,” Zarkon said, releasing his hold on Shiro’s hair. “Answer. Or I’ll bleed you out dry.” 

The blood was hot as it gushed from the fresh wound on Shiro’s chest. He was sure it would need stitches, the sting lacing up and down his nerves and his muscle. Shiro grit his teeth and resisted the urge to hand his head or flick his gaze up to Keith as if for help. Instead, he swallowed hard, jaw muscles pulsing. 

“You told me to look at you when you talk to me,” Shiro answered, breath shuddering a bit behind his words. Heat rose in his face at the sound of his own pathetic voice, but there was nothing else to do. He had to keep calm. Collected. Hold everything together to just get Zarkon out of the room. 

Keith moved forward and, rather boldly, settled one hand on Zarkon’s bicep.  
“Good job,” he said, just to prove that he wasn’t trying to stop Zarkon, not wanting to rouse suspicion. “Finally getting him to do as he’s told. He’s not the best at that usually- any problem comes up and he flutters his eyelashes and pouts and he’s out of trouble. It’s a little pathetic, really.” He cupped Shiro’s jaw and turned his gaze, looking into his eyes.  
“But I do love to see you so weak, Kash. It’s a special little treat for me.”

Shiro looked up at him, resisting the urge to furrow his brow at that last comment.

Keith straightened up, turning his gaze to Zarkon. “But maybe we should ease up. Just for now. We have as long as we need to slice him up but many more cuts like that and he’s going to bleed out. We need to work slower going from the bad stuff to the worse stuff.” He pulled back from Shiro after a moment, taking a step or so back. “I could take a crack at it if you wanted me to. Whenever you’re done, of course, but I would love to knock out a couple of those pearly whites.”

Zarkon gave a scoff. “If this… boy was able to fight against Sendak and win, he can take a few scratches,” he growled, turning back to Shiro. His eyes were much darker, his features twisted with more anger than before. Shiro knew what was coming before Zarkon had even raised his knife. It sliced across his upper bicep, Zarkon dragging the blade alone Shiro’s muscles with another fast snap of his wrist. That one wasn’t as deep as the first, of course, but it still stung. Shiro’s eyes watered on impulse, but he blinked back the trigger reaction, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth and holding it in his chest a good moment or so. 

“I hope you know that is one of the reasons I will cherish your agony so much more, don’t you Takashi?” Zarkon asked, reaching one hand for his breast pocket and using his magenta kerchief to wipe the blade clean of blood, readying it for the next strike. “You shouldn’t have killed him. That was your worst mistake in all of this. That’s why I’m going to kill everyone you ever loved, and then I’m going to let Keith burn your entire company to the ground. You will be nothing after you die. Not even the Black Paladin -- I will take that from your legacy too.”

Shiro wanted him to shut up more than anything in the world, really. His whole body trembled with the strain of keeping calm, his panic starting to brew up again. He forced himself not to look at Keith, simply relying on the idea that Keith would keep him safe as long as he was there. He leaned on that trust with everything he had. He wished that Keith would move forwards again and touch his face or his lips again. Shiro would even be grateful if he settled his foot on the chair between his legs again. Anything would be better than facing Zarkon alone. Than looking up into those merciless eyes all alone. 

“There are people that will stop you,” Shiro said calmly, swallowing hard. “You won’t get away with all of this” 

Zarkon offered out a harsh bark of laughter, cocking his head to its side. “What do you expect me to say? ‘I already have’? Pathetic!” He continued to laugh as he reached out his hand, grabbing Shiro’s face in his fingers, nails digging into Shiro’s cheeks with a hold that seemed to pucker Shiro’s lips. Zarkon leaned in close, eyes narrowed, lips pulled back in the meanest of snarling grins. “What a ridiculous thing to say. I’m not sure what I expected, however. You Shirogane’s were always the cliche-hero types, anyways.”

Shiro’s blood went cold. 

It must have been obvious how much Shiro’s system had jolted at Zarkon hissing out his family name in such a way, for Zarkon laughed again, and wrenched his hand away -- pulling it back and wiping the crusted blood from Shiro’s nose on Shiro’s shoulder. He took a step backwards, sighing a little as he began to fold up his kerchief again and pocket it, the knife clean. 

“I’m sure you know by now it was us who killed your parents,” he said, speaking to Shiro as though he had been talking business deals or trades. “Sendak was never one to brag but he always did take pride in their assassination. The truck he used to wreck their car had barely even dented -- can you believe that? Your parents fancy sports car was completely totalled… but you know that, don’t you? You were there.” 

“Stop,” Shiro said, voice dry and shaky, the plan suddenly gone from his head. Even Keith was a moment away from interrupting.

Zarkon didn't stop. He had finally found it. The perfect wound to salt.

“Your parents were lucky enough to die on impact, as I’m told, but not you, hm? Your little arm pinned beneath the dent of the car, the bone so shattered and splintered the doctors couldn’t even think of saving it. What did that feel like? What did the gasoline smell like? What did all that blood look like, Takashi? Do you remember?” 

Shiro snapped his eyes shut, forgetting Zarkon’s previous warning as he turned his head away. “I don’t,” Shiro lied breathlessly. Of course he remembered. He might have been eleven, but he had dreamed about it for years and years afterward. He remembered everything. “So stop.”

Zarkon didn't stop. 

“Why are you getting so defensive, Takashi?” he asked, the smile oh-so evident in his malicious tone. “Why are you getting so angry at me? You should know I offered them a chance to live. I gave them a choice, and they chose to die. If anything, you should be angry at them.” 

Shiro shook his head. “I told you to stop,” he whimpered, the words that left Zarkon’s lips somehow more painful than the slices of his knife. He had stopped blaming his parents for what happened a long time ago, but somehow Zarkon’s comments stung deep. They opened up doors he hadn’t even dusted since he stopped therapy.

Zarkon just continued as if Shiro hadn’t even spoken. 

“I gave them a chance to be a part of my empire -- to make me weapons in exchange for their safety -- and they turned it down,” he sighed, feigning a melancholic sort of tone. “They didn't want to be wrapped up in my empire. They were ‘too good’ for it. For me. Oh, and most of all they wanted to keep their precious baby boy safe from that life. They turned me down for you, Takashi. They chose to die for you.”

“God damnit, just stop,” Shiro warned through gritted teeth, dreading the words he knew would come next. 

Zarkon didn't stop. 

“So maybe it’s not me you should be mad at. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you, Takashi.” 

Shiro snapped his eyes open and whipped his head around, eyes burning bright behind the wall of tears. “I’m warning you,” he said, trembling voice much darker than before. “Stop.” 

Zarkon didn't stop. 

“If it wasn’t for you, maybe your parents would still be alive. Which is probably why you loathe yourself so much. Why did you get to survive the crash? It was all your fault. If anyone deserved to die, it was you, Takashi. Not your parents.” 

Something in Shiro’s system seemed to shatter. Burst. Whatever Zarkon had been twisting and tightening. Whatever had been gathering all that pressure and strain. It just snapped. Explode into tiny glass shard of bitterness and anger and hatred. Shiro could confidently say that he hated the man before him. He wanted to hit him. To kick him and punch him and yell at him and tell him he was wrong. But Shiro couldn’t do any of that -- he was tied down. Immobile. Helpless. Defenseless.

No… no he wasn’t defenseless… not quite. 

Shiro just had to settle for the next best thing to fighting. 

He spat. Specks of his own spit, still tinted red from when Keith had broken his nose, sprayed across Zarkon’s close face, causing him to snap his eyes close and flinch. Shiro could see Keith’s stunned expression from behind Zarkon. He could also see the aghast look of the guards by the door. 

But Shiro didn't care. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Shiro growled, watching as the realization of what had just happened flash across Zarkon’s still shocked features. “The only person to blame is you. And you’re going to pay for what you did. Whether it’s in a court of law, or by my own two fucking hands.” 

There was a long, tense pause, the atmosphere tight as nearly everyone but Shiro and Zarkon waited in bated breath for something to happen. Then Zarkon leaned up, once again retrieving his handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe his face clean of Shiro’s spit. He opened his eyes and looked down at his kerchief, taking a moment or so to really process exactly what Shiro had done before he dropped the cloth to the floor, and looked up at Shiro with the most chilling of grins. 

“I knew you had it in you. You aren’t as pathetic as you seem,” he said simply. Then he balled his fist, brought it back, and punched Shiro clean across the face. 

There was a sharp crack, and a world of harsh pain, but Shiro didn't really know what could have been broken. All he really knew was that one moment he saw Zarkon’s fist flying towards his face, and the next there had been a flash of bright red, a dizzying ringing in his ear, and then the hot spill of blood as it gushed from a gash on his newly swollen cheekbone and dribbled down his face. Shiro gave a groan and hung his head, trying hard to keep from feeling so suddenly nauseous. Stars still danced in his eyes -- his ears still recovering from that blotted ring. He hoped he hadn’t gotten another concussion from that. With as many as he’d been getting over the past few months, Shiro just had to hope there wouldn't be brain damage. 

Zarkon stepped back some, standing beside Keith and offering him the knife, reaching over to his other hand to rub his knuckles once Keith had reluctantly taken it from him. 

“You want to take a shot at him, now’s your chance,” Zarkon growled, anger lacing his tone. “Make him pay for what he did, Keith. Once you do and I’m satisfied with your methods, I’ll go clean my face and change my suit. The bastard got blood on my collar.” 

Keith looked at Shiro, grabbing him by his throat to pin his head back. He took the blade, swirling it around his fingers a little before he grabbed ahold of it and stabbed him in the chest, just a little below his shoulder and safely away from anywhere fatal. He kept Shiro’s head pinned back with one hand, swinging his fist into Shiro’s stomach.  
“You should have just kept fucking quiet,” he spat, even though every word he said stung in his chest and he was sure Matt was doubting him. He left the knife in Shiro’s chest to stop the bleeding, trying to think of the most painless yet effective way to deal with Shiro.

Or the quickest way to get this over with so Zarkon would leave.

He spat at Shiro, as if a way of getting revenge for Zarkon, keeping his back to the other three in the room in the hopes that they wouldn’t notice the pain in his eyes at how he had to treat Shiro like this.  
“You need to learn that you’re not getting out of here. The safest bet for you is to keep your mouth shut. But this? All of this? It’s far more fun. You’re going to die anyway, why not let us have a little fun with you first?”

He moved his hand from Shiro’s throat, finally, cupping his jaw again and looking down at him. He felt nothing but guilt for Shiro. He knew he was the only one to blame for this situation, for the pain that Shiro was in. He was sure that this wasn’t looking good through the comm, either. A malicious smile curled back onto his lips, but only as a front. He couldn’t stand seeing Shiro like this- and the anger in Shiro’s eyes was unsettlingly familiar.  
“Boss, give me five minutes with him alone and I’ll have him in his place. He won’t want to, but Shiro will let his guard down when it’s just us.”

Zarkon watched Shiro writhe in pain, eyes having widened after Keith had stabbed him so suddenly. There was a moment of silence as he studied the scene before him, taking in the sight of how Shiro shuddered, whimpering at each breath that was big enough to disturb the blade and further aggravate the muscle it had been digging into. The sight of Keith’s spit still dripping down the side of Shiro’s already bloody face. The sight of how tightly his eyes had been squeezed shut. 

“Very well,” he said, nodding his head. Zarkon turned, the guards by the doors reacting instantly — pulling open the french set of doors with in a grand sort of way. “Break him for questioning, Keith. There are more knives in the second drawer of the desk. Just remember whatever mess you make, you will clean.”

And with that, Zarkon left, beckoning the guards to follow him outside the door to give Keith his privacy. 

Shiro instantly slumped, all the tension leaving his body as he hung his head forwards. A long, strained sort of groan left his lips, the blade in his shoulder like white hot fire eating away at his nerves. His head was spinning — all the blood from his chest and his face just felt sticky and hot. Shiro almost felt as though he could throw up, pain induced nausea turning his stomach as he hunched over and tried to collect his breath. 

“Jesus Christ, Keith,” he rasped, his breath harsh in his throat. “You didn’t have to stab me.” Shiro fluttered his eyes open, teary from pain. “God dammit. That hurts.”

Keith glanced back at the door and, when satisfied that it was closed and there was no chance they’d be interrupted, he cupped Shiro’s jaw and pulled him in for a kiss.   
“Shut up,” he murmured to him, closing his eyes as he kissed him again, slowly and carefully, as if he was afraid that the slightest wrong move would hurt Shiro even more. He let one arm drape over Shiro’s shoulders and closed his eyes. Even if the taste of blood lingered on Shiro’s lips, Keith couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He didn’t care about the bloody taste or the fact that Zarkon was just one room away and could walk in at any time if he wanted to say something or if he wanted to collect his handkerchief from the floor. 

He didn’t care about anything but his own selfish need for Shiro’s lips to be against his.

 

But he had to break away eventually and he did, looking down at Shiro.  
“I’m so sorry,” he said after a moment, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb over Shiro’s cheekbone carefully. “I- I didn’t think he’d go that far. I didn’t expect him to bring up any of that stuff or to cut you that deep. I thought he’d just rough you up a little and go to another job.” He Looked from the helmet on the floor to the knife still digging into Shiro’s shoulder, trying to figure out what he should do first. He moved to Zarkon’s desk and rummaged through a few drawers before he found a first aid kit, one typically used to wrap up Zarkon’s knuckles after particularly rough interrogations. He approached Shiro, pushing him to sit back and tugging the suit down a bit before gripping the edge of the blade.

Shiro nodded a little, eyes focused on Keith’s lips. He didn’t even notice where Keith’s hand had been.   
“It’s okay,” he murmured, swallowing hard. “You did what you had to do. The kiss… uh, the kiss helped.” Shiro leaned forwards a bit, ignoring the spark of pain from the knife. “You should do that again.”

Keith disregarded that with a smile.  
“This is going to hurt,” he warned Shiro only a moment before tugging it out and pressing the palm of his hand to the wound. Shiro shouted, eyes snapping closed at the feeling of the blade wrenching out from its snug place in his shoulder. Keith applied force even after Shiro let out pained whimpers- Puppy- and began to dig around in the kit. He found a square bandage and pressed it to the wound, fixing it in place and then getting a bandage wrap and starting to wrap it around the shoulder once, tight, once more for security, then tighter on the third time. The pressure of that should stop the bleeding. He tore the bandage there and tied it firmly in place, then looking to the line sliced down Shiro’s chest.

“I’m going to cut you free,” he said, taking the bloody shoulder-knife and moving to behind the chair, dragging it down along the rope that kept him restrained and then cutting his ankles free. When Shiro was no longer attached to the chair, he cut through the ropes that were tight around his body, thankful that the knife was so sharp that not even stabbing someone with it had dulled it. He was glad that he could get through this quickly. He made quick work of the rope on his chest, too, and then on his hands before he went for the first aid kit again. “Let’s finish getting you patched up before we do anything else.”

With the ropes gone and his aching arms free, Shiro slumped forwards, settling his head onto Keith’s shoulder and turning his face into his neck, trying not to think about all the blood he’d likely been smearing against Keith’s skin. He groaned again, the muscles of his shoulders and his biceps cramping up — he would be feeling it for days. Underneath the stab wounds of course, but still painful. 

Shiro groaned again. A wave of exhaustion tumbled over him and Shiro suddenly felt as though he could sleep there forever, leaned against Keith’s body. The only problem was that he couldn’t. Zarkon would return and see them there, and then the whole plan would be over — he would kill or torture them both, and then move onto destroying Shiro’s life and legacy. There was still work to be done… Hell, they had only made it through phase one of the plan.

“Okay,” he muttered shakily, nodding his head. He didn’t try to lean up off of Keith, though. He might have even cuddled closer. “Nothing crazy. Just patch up some of the bleeding so I’m fit to fight.” 

Nodding a little, Keith pushed Shiro back just enough to access his wounds, patching him up to the best of his abilities before he pushed the helmet back onto Shiro.  
“Matt, you’re all clear,” he said, pulling back and going to the door to get the armour plates from the bag, starting to clasp them back on- provided that he could actually figure out where they were supposed to be. He ended up having to hand half of the pieces over to Shiro so that he could help fix them on, too, just so they would be working at twice the speed to prevent the risk of Zarkon coming in while Shiro was only half suited up.

They were walking a very thin line with so many risks. Honestly, how they’d even gotten this far was beyond Keith but he couldn’t dwell on it. There were more important matters that needed his attention- like stopping Shiro from being killed while he was so weak.

Shiro drearily answered Matt’s frantic questions as Keith helped him suit up again, telling Matt that he could see straight and clearly, and that he would be fine for the final fight. He ignored the nervous suggestion that he sit off to the side next time Zarkon would step into the room -- the suggestion that he should just let Keith take care of it all. Instead, Shiro just ducked his head and settled his eyes closed, trying hard to clear his mind. 

“We should wait in here,” Shiro said, keeping his voice steady as he spoke out into the silence of the room. “Wait until he gets back. Spring on him then with the element of surprise.” 

He was speaking rather level-headedly for someone who was growing paler by the second. Keith’s temporary bandages helped staunch the bleeding a bit, but Shiro could still feel himself grow weary and light headed. His stab wound throbbed with the heavy beating of his heart, flushing an aching sort of pain all the way up and down his shoulder with each pulse. Shiro just grit his teeth and tried to ignore it, hoping to focus on the mission and get it all over with as soon as they could. 

Shiro lifted his head and looked up at Keith, reaching a hand up to his mask so he could take it off. Matt’s voice left his ear, and the cool air of Zarkon’s office met the cooling blood that crusted about his face. It helped him wake up a little more -- breathing in nice and deep and letting the air go in a soft sort of sigh. 

“Unless you have another idea,” Shiro murmured, shrugging. He set the hand of his good arm over top of his stab wound, feeling the twinge of pain even through the layers of armor and bandages. “You’re going to have to carry the fight a bit, Keith. Sorry… I didn't think the interrogation would get that intense.” 

Keith looked up at Shiro, offering a dry laugh as he helped Shiro as best as he could.  
“I really don’t think you have anything to apologise for,” he said as he cupped Shiro’s cheeks, looking up at him. “It’s not your fault things went sideways. Look, just… Zarkon’s going to come through that door any moment. I’ll stand one side and you stand the other and when he opens it, you go for his legs to trap him and I’ll do what damage I can to his head. The element of surprise will be on our side here and if we can get the jump on him while he’s already cocky… it shouldn’t be too hard to take him out.”

He helped Shiro start to the door, keeping him steady.   
“You can crouch if you’d feel better nearer the ground. It’s why I decided to give you the job of going for his knees.”

Shiro nodded, feeling his head spin a bit when he was stood up on his feet. He didn’t let himself show it… well, he tried not to let himself show it. He could feel Keith’s concerned eyes focused on him — trailing down to the sodden red spots that bled out from behind Shiro’s plates of armor. Keith helped Shiro over to the door, but Shiro didn’t take his arm off of Keith’s shoulder when they stopped, knowing they were short on time but also knowing he needed to hold him close for another moment or so. His mask was at his hip… he’d have to put it back on before Zarkon came back so Matt could help him fight. But Shiro didn’t reach for it, his stare softening as he looked into Keith’s furrowed-browed gaze. Instead, his hand lifted to touch the side of Keith’s face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath his cool fingertips. He tucked a strand of Keith’s hair behind his ear, just like always. 

He wondered if that might have been the last time he’d ever get to do it.

“One last kiss?” Shiro asked, quirking a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Just for… for good luck?”

Offering a small and weak smile, Keith quite didn’t have the heart to tell Shiro it was too risky or that they were too low on time. He’d rather Zarkon came in and saw them kissing than he never got to kiss Shiro again.

He cupped Shiro’s cheek, learning in close and brushing their lips together slowly, cautiously, still afraid that he could somehow hurt Shiro or that his kiss would end up fucking them over.   
“Just one,” he said as he pulled away- before he faltered and cupped Shiro’s cheeks, pulling him down for another kiss. It was risky, it was impulsive, it was selfish for both of them but god, just having Shiro’s lips against his made Keith decide it was worth it. 

If he died right there, with Shiro’s lips against his, he wouldn’t have a single regret. All he ever needed was to have their lips together. 

He broke away again, looking up into Shiro’s eyes, tempted to bless them both with just one more brush of their lips or perhaps to deepen the kiss, to slide his tongue into Shiro’s mouth as he’d done that night however long ago. But he couldn’t. He didn’t indulge in his own desires again, pulling back, giving Shiro a smile as he picked up Shiro’s helmet and slid it on him. “Good luck.”

Shiro smiled under his mask, the ghost of Keith’s lips against his own enough to flush a feeling of strength through his veins. He gave Keith’s shoulder one final squeeze, and then slipped his arm off of him, steadying himself with the wall as he eased down in a crouch beside the door. Keith moved forwards toward the other side, pulling his own mask up over his face. Shiro watched him a moment or so before shaking his head a little, and looking back towards the door. 

“God, you guys are going to make me vomit.” Matt’s voice was nice to hear in his ear -- the lightheartedness even better.   
Shiro snickered a little, still smiling. “Well, get used to it,” he said, sighing a little as he trained his gaze upon the doorknob. “If we get out of this alive, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more kisses.”

“As therapy?” Matt asked, mockingly incredulous.

Shiro laughed again, ignoring the way it hurt his chest. “Yep,” he hummed. “I think I’m going to take a long vacation after this, too. Some place nice and quiet. How do you guys feel about a nice beach in Mexico for a week?”

“Ugh, that’d be good,” Keith murmured, smiling fondly up at Shiro, his hand settled on Shiro’s bicep still- ‘for support’. “I haven’t had a vacation in almost twenty years.”

“Now I know you’re delirious from blood loss. We’re going to the Bahamas, you fool,” Matt said, voice a little softer than before -- not as oily with mocking. There was a pause, and a moment of clacking keys in Shiro’s ear. “But liven up a little and forget the beach. Heat signatures coming your way.” 

Shiro nodded and repeated the phrase out loud, looking up at Keith to make sure he understood. 

“Watch the door. He’ll be there any second.” 

All the previous warmth and humor had instantly soured, Shiro’s smile fading off into a frown as he focused his attention onto the doorknob, waiting with a baited sort of breath -- nearly leaning forwards on the balls of his feet as the silence ate at his patience. 

He could hear the footsteps, those heavy-set expensive shoes tapping on the wood of the floors. He could see the shadow move from beneath the slit of the door, Zarkon’s dark form cutting through the light of the hall. The doorknob jolted a bit as a hand was laid atop the other side, and a deep, grumbling voice said something Shiro didn't have the mindset to understand. 

The doorknob turned. 

And the door opened.


	24. Zarkon

A few things happened at once, really. 

At least that’s what it felt like. 

The door opened, pushing outwards so it blocked Keith from Shiro’s line of vision, and out stepped those expensive shoes and pant legs Shiro had noticed from before. It took Shiro half of a heartbeat to realize he was supposed to be the one to take the first move -- to go for Zarkon’s legs. There wasn’t much thinking after that. Shiro just poised his legs, flexed his muscles, and pounced with a guttural sort of shout. 

He pushed too hard, maybe -- Keith had just said something about trapping Zarkon, but Shiro’s momentum and strength alongside Zarkon’s complete and utter surprise lead to a little more than immobilization. Shiro tackled Zarkon by his legs, buckling his knees and throwing him off of his balance. Zarkon gave a surprised sort of shout, his arms shooting out to his sides as if to regain his balance. It didn't work. He toppled into the open door, and fell onto his side when the door kept swinging and hit the opposite wall. Shiro could see Keith again, but he could only take in his stupefied sort of shock for a moment before Zarkon leaned up again with a growl. 

Matt tried to warn him, but it was too late. Zarkon was too fast -- inhumanly so, just as Sendak had been. Before Shiro knew it, a large hand had taken a hold of his throat, gripping hard and instantly blocking off his windpipe as Shiro was wrenched forwards. Zarkon’s eyes were blazing as he squeezed down harder against Shiro’s throat, features twisted in a terrifying snarl. 

“I’ve had just about enough of you!” Zarkon roared. His hand just clenched tighter. 

Shiro could feel his face cool from the lack of blood flow and his eyes burn with a rim of bright red. He heard Matt say that Zarkon was going to break his neck behind the shrill ring of his ears, but Shiro didn't struggle. He knew he wasn’t alone in that fight. 

Keith was right there with him. 

And Keith had just picked up a rather expensive and sturdy looking vase to bring down upon Zarkon’s head hard, watching as it shattered over Zarkon, taking a few steps back while he waited to see if that had gotten his attention off of Shiro or if he would need to grab the next expensive paperweight or decoration he was going to break. It was either breaking these things or stealing and selling them.

So he grabbed a glass paperweight and threw it at Zarkon while Shiro still had hold of him, suddenly wishing he’d collected and assembled his flamethrower before Zarkon had gotten there instead of kissing Shiro… before he remembered how soft those lips were and figured that Shiro would be plenty capable of distracting Zarkon for the forty-five seconds it would take for him to unlock the case and piece together the gun. The only thing that might inconvenience them would be if the tank was empty, but Zarkon would have restocks somewhere in his office so as long as he, again, had time to search there wouldn’t be a problem.

Curling his hands into fists and gritting his teeth, Keith took one or two steps forward and prepared to hit Zarkon, keeping himself on his feet and moving as he ducked from side to side, prepared to avoid potential swings before they’d come anywhere close to him. He’d trained with Sendak plenty- someone who had trained with Zarkon- to know the general way that these people fought, making him more experienced for the job than Shiro, making this a little easier for him.

Zarkon had dropped Shiro after the shattering of the vase over his head, and then Keith had hit him with the paperweight just a moment after, leaving no moment to collect himself to turn around and lash out at the new attacker. Shiro fell backwards onto the floor, curling up on his side and desperately gasping for air, blinking his eyes hard. He looked up, still a bit too breathless to stop Zarkon from pushing from the ground or shaking the shards of glass from his head. Blood slipped down the sides of his face in twisting streams of crimson, all stemming from his hairline. Zarkon shook his head a little, blinked his eyes, and turned around fast, recovering from the blows rather quickly as he looked up at Keith before him. 

“You?” he nearly roared, voice like a shriek. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You know,” Keith said as his hands curled into fists. “I was just asking myself the same thing.”

There was the stomp of guards in the hall. Shiro turned to see three of them, all with guns, all alerted by their boss’s screams. Shiro took a deep breath, gathered himself with a quick shake of his head, and then pushed up to his feet -- only wobbling a moment or so. He turned to look at Keith, who had been raising his arms and settling into his familiar fighting stance as Zarkon rose to his own two feet before him. Shiro locked eyes with him, nodded back towards the hall, and spun around to face the guards when Keith shot him a thumbs up. 

The three guards approached, all raising their guns, all shouting for Shiro to get down. Shiro ignored them, however, and started forwards, head cocked forwards and body laced with adrenaline. The closest guard fired, and Shiro dodged the bullet easily, the dampeners in his mask blotting the deafening ring of the bullet as it whizzed past him and pierced the building with an explosion of drywall. He reached forwards and grabbed the guards wrist before he could fire again, twisting his arm back and then swinging him around in a sort of shield to keep his friends from firing. Shiro wrapped one of his arms around the man’s throat, still twisting his wrist with his prosthetic. He twisted until the guard dropped his gun, and Shiro stomped his foot on top of it, pulling his grip harder on the guard’s throat. 

“Drop your weapons,” Shiro ordered. He managed to keep from panting, but his nose scrunched and his eyes pinched a bit at the feeling of the guard he held writhing against his chest. Against his raw stab wound and the slice from Zarkon’s interrogation. “I’m giving you one chance to get out of here. This isn’t a fight you can win.” 

One of the other guards laughed, lowering her gun a bit to throw back her head. “You’re injured, Paladin,” she shot. “Killing you will be easy.” 

Shiro grit his teeth, jaw muscles pulsing behind his mask. He flexed his arm, cutting off the guard’s circulation with the crook of his elbow. In a matter of time, the man he held stopped squirming, his knees buckling. Shiro released the hold just a little, only really wanting him unconscious. The threat seemed to do well against the third guard -- the one who hadn’t spoken. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his grip on the gun, stepping backwards. The woman, however, just laughed again. 

“Some party trick,” she jeered. 

Shiro shrugged. “Just a distraction until I thought of what to do.” 

In an instant, he moved. Spinning on his heel, reaching to grab the unconscious guard’s arm, and then flinging him forwards with all his might -- towards the other two. His stab wound ripped with pain, but Shiro ignored the flash of red in his vision and barrelled forwards, not even pausing to see what his previously mindless attack had done. Both guards had dropped their weapons to catch their friend -- without their guns, they were defenseless. Shiro made a point to take out the cowardly one first, delivering a harsh punch to the jaw with his prosthetic. The man was out like a light. The woman, however, leapt up and went for the attack, but again Shiro dodged. He dodged the punch, and then caught the second. He grabbed her other wrist, and pulled her close, cocking his head forwards and scowling under his mask. 

“Last chance. Get your friends, and get out of here,” Shiro said sharply, squeezing tighter with both hands when she began to squirm. “My friend in there will kill you without a second thought -- this is the only mercy you’re going to get.”

The guard looked down to her friends, face twisting up with dilemma. “And I’m just supposed to trust you’ll show me mercy when I give up?” she snapped. “Why?” 

Shiro began to lessen his hold on her. “Because I don’t kill.” His voice was a little softer than before. 

“You’re going to kill my boss, aren’t you?” 

There was a pause, but then Shiro cracked a smile that the guard couldn’t see.  
“Not me. Who do you think I’ve been buying all this time for?” 

He didn't wait for an answer. Shiro released both of her wrists, and swept his leg underneath hers, letting her topple to the ground beside her two unconscious friends. He turned, starting back towards Zarkon’s room to offer Keith help. He heard scrambling behind him, but he wasn’t worried -- even before he heard the guard offer a soft grunt and then the following sound of listless bodies being dragged across clean marble, Shiro knew she was done fighting. 

He hoped the same applied with Keith and Zarkon as he made his way back into Zarkon’s office. 

And Keith couldn’t have been more desperately needing backup than in that moment.

The fight had started well- after Shiro had helped him get the jump on Zarkon, he’d given himself the upper hand. Without access to any kind of a weapon, however, and fighting someone who was very nearly three times his size, it was only a matter of time before he lost his upper hand. And that had come when he’d turned to grab another vase and not quite noticed the hand curling around his ankle until he’d moved back and fallen to the floor with a cry. He’d turned instantly and kicked out at Zarkon, trying to get his ankle free. He watched Zarkon beginning to push up, still holding his ankle, and had let out a rather unpleasant string of curses as he was lifted off of the floor.

If Sendak’s strength was inhuman, then Zarkon’s strength was immeasurable. Keith was lifted and slammed forcefully into the floor as if he weighed nothing, grunting. He’d managed to somewhat cushion the impact with his floor.   
“Fuck-!” he kicked at the hand around his ankle. Relief had flooded him for just a moment when Zarkon let go of him, before he realised that there should have been more of a fight. That a couple kicks from some kid in his early twenties wouldn’t do anything, not even if he wore combat boots. 

He was grabbed by the front of his shirt before being slammed onto the desk.  
“You were given the opportunity of a lifetime. I should have known that you would never have risen up to your potential. You basket-cases are all the same, all weak, all pathetic. Too cowardly to take the opportunities you’re presented with. I could have given this job to any desperate druggie needing money and they could have done a more adequate job than you!”

Keith grit his teeth, reaching back on the desk, feeling for anything he could use to hit Zarkon.  
“Oh, where did you get these insults from?” He began to drive kicks into Zarkon’s stomach, even if it didn’t even make him flinch. “Try telling me something I haven’t heard hundreds of times before.”

His fingers curled around a mug settled by the computer- heavier than it should have been, definitely full. Still slightly warm, but not burning hot. Keith didn’t hesitate to move his hand, slamming it into Zarkon’s head. Coffee and shards of ceramic splattered about, clattering on the floor. Zarkon had cried, moving back, releasing Keith as blood began to drip down his head. Immediately, Keith felt some chill flush through him, some sickening sense of regret. He grit his teeth and grabbed the keyboard from the desk, even if it meant that he pulled the computer monitor from the desk when disconnecting it.

And now he had some kind of a weapon, as useless as it was compared to the power of the flamethrower he’d had only days before.

“You’re nothing!” Zarkon shouted, lukewarm coffee spilt down his shirt, staining his expensive suit. “You’ve never been anything but a burden! To me, to my business, and to that billionaire friend of yours!”

Keith grit his teeth, charging at Zarkon and swinging the keyboard. It hit him in the arm, sending an array of keys clattering about the room. Zarkon didn’t even flinch, just getting angrier and angrier. It was getting increasingly evident that this was a foolish decision- especially now that he was alone here.  
“Try again,” Keith said, somehow steadying his voice. “I’ve heard that one a thousand times, too.”

Zarkon stepped forward, swinging a punch at Keith that he only barely managed to dodge, cursing yet again as he dropped to the ground and slid between Zarkon’s legs. He swung the already damaged keyboard, jumping up and hitting Zarkon in the back of the head. The keyboard broke, and Zarkon shouted in pain and anger before reeling around to strike Keith again. Keith took a few steps back, toward the door, dropping the broken keyboard and instead taking the lamp from the set of drawers by the door. He tugged it sharply, feeling it come loose and finally free from the wall.

Something that had been ingrained in his brain from living in such a dangerous area was that no matter what danger there was, having some form of weapon made him feel much safer. 

Now he just needed Shiro to sell the illusion of safety.

Shiro was quick to help -- fast on his feet and moving without thought as he charged for Zarkon. He turned his shoulder and rammed it into Zarkon’s side before he could get a hit on Keith, throwing off the giant’s balance. The stab wound was like fire, the nerves sizzling in agony across his chest, but that didn't stop Shiro as he brought back his fist and slammed it forwards into the discombobulated Zarkon’s stomach. Zarkon gave a grunt of sorts, stumbling back into his desk. Shiro didn't wait for him to collect his barings before charging again. 

Unlike Keith, Shiro didn't fight with weapons all that much. Occasionally he’d have a sword of sorts, but at the end of the day, the Black Paladin worked best with his fists. He slammed one fist into Zarkon’s abs again, and drove the other one, the metal one, upwards in a mighty uppercut. He didn't hold back -- the sharp crack of Zarkon’s teeth slamming together and the spray of blood from his lips proved it so.

The little victory didn't last forever. 

Zarkon gave a low, pained growl, and lashed out with his own fist. It nailed Shiro right in the center of his unguarded chest with a crackle of sorts. Shiro’s breath left him in an instant, wheezing past his lips as he stumbled backwards, one foot catching over the other. He began to fall, but something secure and sturdy caught him by his arms, the presence behind him warm and smelling of smoke as hoisted Shiro back up to a stand. 

“Nice catch,” Shiro groaned, coughing a bit. He tasted blood in his mouth. From what? He didn't know. All he knew was that it hurt to breathe. Shiro ignored it though, speaking in a whisper between coughs. “He’s weakest when you charge him… but the moment you open up a spot for him to hit, he goes for it. I say we both charge him. He can’t hit us both right away.” 

“So your tactic is to attack?” Keith asked, a little huff slipping past his lips as he moved back from Shiro, around to Zarkon’s other side to get a better sort of advantage, so they’d be coming from totally different sides when they ‘charged’, as Shiro put it. He didn’t comment on Shiro’s coughing or the obvious sort of weakness, but he knew that when they got out of there Matt was going to beat his ass for it.

He decided it would be best if, for now, he didn’t think too heavily about Matt. If he just didn’t let himself think too much about what could happen after this, what would happen, how Shiro would react to all of this with a clearer head and no threat to worry about, or how Matt would respond to what condition Shiro’s in, or his house, his family-

“Fledgling!” Keith had gotten distracted, and Zarkon’s shout was the first thing that brought him back to reality, only giving him a second or so to drop to the floor, avoiding a punch so narrowly that he could feel Zarkon’s fist brush the top of his head, catching his hair but luckily not his face. He pushed himself up, moving to be around Zarkon and closer to Shiro.

While Zarkon began to shout at them, once more giving long and extensive threats and remarks at how disgusting or disappointing Keith was, he turned to glance at Shiro.  
“On your count,” he said, putting about a meter between them. “We’ll go. I’m trusting you on this.”

Shiro gave a firm nod, trying to clear his head as he fixed his posture and drew back his leg -- regaining balance. Zarkon had been fuming, mindless and rageful. He was snarling like a beast as he stomped his way forward, hands gripped into tight fists at his sides. Shiro grit his teeth and let all the pain numb over with the chilling wash of adrenaline. 

“One-” 

His whispered count was cut off by the charging Zarkon’s roaring. 

“I’ll kill you both! I’ll kill everyone you love! Destroy everything you hold dear! I’ll-”

Shiro rolled his eyes, the rest of Zarkon’s rant drowned out as he spoke again. “Whatever. Just go. Three!” 

He didn't wait for Keith as he charged forwards, rounding to one side of Zarkon and attacking as he’d done before. Without hesitation. Without mercy. He dodged a wild punch from the giant before him, and threw another uppercut into Zarkon’s jaw. His knuckles ached beneath his gloved hands, but Shiro didn't hesitate before driving his other fist into Zarkon’s stomach. Zarkon attempted to lash out, but Keith’s blows from the other side distracted him from throwing Shiro across the room again. It seemed as though his tactic might have worked. 

Keith had struck with a sharp kick to his Zarkon’s side while he’d left himself vulnerable. He took a bottle of expensive whiskey and,with as much ruthlessness as he could manage, kicked himself up onto the desk to launch himself at Zarkon. He earned a clear shot to the head, bringing the bottle down and watching it shatter, sending a flood of whiskey about the room, over the floors and his clothes, dousing Zarkon in the stuff accompanied with shards of glass. He brandished the splintering neck of the bottle, gripping tightly to it as the giant turned to him.

He hopped back off of the desk, managing to avoid landing in and slipping over the whiskey as he drew his fist back. Zarkon’s moves were slowing, though, and the next punch he threw was more sluggish. The heavy flow blood dripping down his head and staining his suit was an immediate show of vulnerability, that he wasn’t undefeatable. 

 

But he had managed to enrage Zarkon. Not only by smashing a very expensive bottle of whiskey- one that Keith almost wished he’d saved until after the mission to celebrate with- but by choosing to smash it over Zarkon’s head. The cut wounds that that had left were deep, and they’d be stinging with the alcohol seeping into the wounds.

“You pathetic excuse for a hitman!” he’d roared, swinging his fist in a clumsy movement, fuelled with anger and resentment. Keith had been attempting, just for a moment, to look over at Shiro to see if he was okay. By the time he realised Zarkon was swinging at him, he didn’t have enough time to move and had only barely gotten to shield his head with his arms when impact was made. He was sent sprawling, caught almost entirely off guard, hitting the floor and skidding. He grunted, vision blurred as he tried to recover. Without his mask, he would have had no protection against the impact. That kind of force could have easily knocked him out.

“Keith!” 

Shiro’s eyes shot open, head turned from Zarkon, gaze focused on the frighteningly listless Keith across the room. He started forwards, but Zarkon didn't let him get far. One of those giant hands snatched Shiro’s upper arm, and he was wrenched down to the floor. He rolled out of the way of a punch, however, head turned up so he could see Keith again. 

Keith began to push himself up, but he was too dizzy and the room spun too much. Had he hit his head on the floor? He didn’t remember doing so but his head was throbbing and he couldn’t think of any other reasons why it would be.

Unluckily for him, however, the second it had become clear that he was vulnerable Zarkon had lost all interest in Shiro. Instead, he’d decided that Keith would be an easy kill. Better to deal with him now, in any case. 

Keith had only just gotten to push himself into a kneeling position when he noticed the looming shadow beginning to approach. He tried to push himself up, but his head felt unusually heavy and he couldn’t manage to find the strength to get up. That made it perfectly convenient for Zarkon when he grabbed Keith’s throat, lifting him off of the floor and slamming him into the wall. A little splotch of blood appeared on the wall where Keith’s head had made impact, and he grunted in pain, trying to gasp for air. 

“You’re going to regret ever crossing paths with me, boy!” Zarkon spat, tightening his grip. Keith’s weak struggles meant nothing to him as he clenched his fist -- eyes narrowing, teeth bared, lips pulled back in a terrifying sort of snarl. “You had potential! You were on your way to greatness! But you threw it all away!” 

He leaned close, just enough so their noses touched. Zarkon’s hot breath huffed across Keith’s face. “And I’m going to make you die so slowly because of it.” 

That was Zarkon’s mistake. Right there. Maybe if he had killed Keith quick and easy and returned to finish off Shiro, he would have won -- but his malice got the best of him. His anger, his thirst for revenge, his mindless hatred. It got the best of Zarkon… and it got the best of Shiro. 

Anger, revenge, hatred… that beautiful selfishness Lotor had described to him…

It got the best of Shiro in the worst of ways. 

Who knew it would be so easy to break off a leg of that metal chair Shiro had been tied to before? How easily his prosthetic wrenched it from its place? Who knew how quickly Shiro could dash to the other side of the room without thinking? Who knew that metal would fly so soundlessly through the air, how perfectly it fit into the palm of Shiro’s hand? Who knew how flawlessly the leg of that chair would pierce through flesh and break through bone with the strength of Shiro’s prosthetic behind it? 

Who knew how much blood would spray the instant that it pierced through the back of Zarkon’s neck and out of his throat, the twisted metal edge just barely skimming the skin of Keith’s own adam’s apple?

Shiro’s eyes were unfocused and glassy, breath haggard. He took a step backwards, releasing his grasp on the bar lodged in Zarkon’s throat. Zakron hadn’t moved. Zarkon hadn’t even twitched, the blood of his throat gurgling up past his lips as he stood in shocked silence. A moment passed, and he took a clumsy step backwards, eyes wide and bulging as he released his grip on Keith’s throat. Keith slid down the wall, face covered in Zarkon’s blood, eyes wide as they watched the man before him stumble. Zarkon gave one last choke of a sound, and his legs gave out from beneath him. He collapsed in a heap. 

Zarkon was dead before he even hit the floor. 

There was a moment of silence. A silence filled with the pants from Shiro and the coughs and gasps from Keith, but a silence nonetheless. Shiro blinked, flicking his eyes up towards the bloodsoaked Keith, and then down to his hands. 

“I-... I didn't mean to do that,” Shiro croaked, face paling. Blood was already pooling from the corpse before him, the puddle of red beginning to reach the toes of his shoes. Shiro took a staggered step away from it,looking back up at Keith. He could barely feel his tongue when he spoke again, everything almost… numb. “Are you… are you okay?”

Even with everything that Keith had seen, not to mention what he had done, nothing had chilled or disturbed him as greatly as seeing… that.

Not just because he knew Shiro had done it- Shiro, who was pretty decisively against murder- but because Shiro had done it to save him. Because he’d been on the verge of blacking out, of dying, and instead of being wrapped up in the embrace of nothingness, he’d been jolted back to reality with a gasp of cold air and a spray of warm blood.

His eyes flicked from the body on the floor to the blood that had been spilled over himself and then, finally, to Shiro. Who had a little whiskey still on him from earlier, but barely a drop of blood that wasn’t his own. And, somehow, he managed a nod.  
“Yeah.” The voice that spilt past his lips was hesitant and uneven, and it didn’t sound like his own. Quiet, almost whimpered. “Y-Yeah. I’m fine.”

One hand moved to his throat, where bruises would soon be forming, where the skin was currently reddened and slightly bleeding from Zarkon’s grimy fingernails digging into his flesh. He cleared his throat, as if there was a lump in it. It felt like it was still being squeezed by Zarkon’s hands, he was trembling, he felt nauseated. But he knew that they had to get out of there.

“Can you call Matt?” he asked, his voice strained, his breathing still catching. He would have gone straight to Shiro’s side to check on him if his body hadn’t felt like lead, or if his head didn’t feel like it was splitting apart, or if the idea of being that close to someone right now didn’t almost paralyze him with fear. He just needed a few moments. Or a few days. “Tell him we...we’ll be out in a few minutes? That we did it?”

Shiro nodded, still feeling numb. His eyes were on the puddle of blood. Despite his nodding, he didn't move -- it took a mumbled ‘Shiro’ from Keith to get him moving, and even when he did, his eyes were on the body. He lifted his hands up to the mask, wondering bleakly why they’d been trembling, and pulled it up and off of his head. Shiro pressed the button for the comms, waiting for the connection to go through…

“Shiro! There you are! Why didn't you switch me on for the fight?”

There was a moment of silence, Shiro’s mind blank. 

“Shiro?” 

“We, uh, did it,” Shir blurted. The words tumbled from his lips awkwardly. He still couldn’t feel his tongue. “Zarkon’s dead… we’re both really hurt. We need you to, uh… to come get us.” 

“Already in the van. I’ve been tracking your injuries through the suit. It was the only way I could see what was happening.” There was a grumble of an engine behind Matt’s voice. “So Keith really did it, huh? I didn't think you’d let him.” 

Shiro’s chest tightened. Ah. That’s why he felt so odd. 

He’d just killed a man. 

“Not Keith.” 

“What?” 

Shiro shook his head a little. “Keith… Keith didn't do it…” 

There was a long pause -- Shiro could hear Matt’s breath hitch in a gasp of sorts. He could feel his shock, even through the little speaker of the comm. He waited anxiously for a response, eyes widening, pupils constricting, focus still trained upon the body. The blood. 

“Holy shit, Shiro… I… are you okay?” Matt’s voice was slow, unprepared. He didn't know what to say -- it was obvious. 

Again, Shiro shook his head. “No.” 

He couldn’t be? How could Shiro possibly be okay? He had just killed a man. He took someone’s life -- he slaughtered a human being without a second thought. All on a mindless, rageful whim. The more Shiro played the scene through his head, the more animalistic he became. The more he scared himself. 

Shiro had never killed anyone before. 

Ever. 

Shiro spoke again before Matt could say anything.  
“Just come get us please,” he nearly whispered. And then, without waiting for a response, Shiro clicked the comm again, and Matt’s line went dead. 

In an instant, Shiro’s legs gave out. He slumped down to his knees, eyes once again glassy and unfocused as he stared at the mass of blood before him. Zarkon was wearing a suit… Shiro hadn’t thought of it much before but… right then and there it was all he could think about. Zarkon had woken up that morning and dressed himself, just like everyone else did. Shiro couldn’t get over how human it was that Zarkon was wearing a suit…

He couldn’t get over that it was the last thing Zarkon would ever dress himself in. 

“I didn't mean to,” Shiro repeated. The statement wasn’t really meant for Keith. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

“I could have died.” Keith responded anyway, not caring about whether or not Shiro had been inviting him to. “I could… I almost did. If you’d been thinking… if you hadn’t… done that, I could be dead…”

He didn’t want to move, but somehow he managed to haul himself to his feet and drag himself over to Shiro. He slumped down beside him instead, keeping just enough distance to avoid the risk of getting blood on Shiro. It was the least he could do, right?

“You did the right thing,” he insisted quietly. “I…” 

He was going to say he knew how it felt, but did he? He’d killed plenty of people before. What was it, nineteen contracted? Nineteen for Zarkon, twenty including Sendak, and then his father? Could he even pretend to know what was going through Shiro’s head?

“It’ll… it’ll be alright,” he managed to murmur instead. “We need to… to get out. We should go.”

Shiro shook his head gently, hands squeezing into fists at his sides. His skin was crawling, his teeth aching at the harsh clench of his jaws. Sharp fingernails bit the inside of his palm -- but Shiro could barely feel it. His dazed stare still didn't leave Zarkon’s corpse.   
“Murder is never the right thing,” he muttered. “I could have found another way. I… I just wasn’t thinking-...” 

His words stalled, falling flat as he trailed off. Shiro took a deep breath, and shook his head again -- only that time, it had been to clear it out somehow. Snap him back into reality. “You’re right. We need to go.” Shiro shifted his legs, pushing up to his feet. “We, uh… we could leave-…” he let his voice die off again, and resorted to a weak gesture of Zarkon’s body instead, “-... here. For the police. There aren’t any fingerprints.” 

Shiro let his gaze fall upon the floor. “Shit. There’s blood. From my stab wound… we’ll have to, uh, take care of that.”

It took him a moment to think about offering a hand to Keith, who was still knelt beside him. There was an obvious distance -- and there was certainly an obvious fear in Keith’s eyes. Shiro took the risk anyways, slow to extend his hand out, keeping his own distance. 

“I can do it,” he mumbled. At the memory of his wounds and the winding down of his adrenaline, Shiro could feel the fight take its toll on his system. His chest seemed to stutter with every breath, his stab wound aching beneath Keith’s fast and almost careless bandaging. If he didn't end up at the hospital again, Shiro would collapse upon his bed and never let himself get up for another damn thing. “It’s my blood, I guess…” 

“How?” Keith asked, his eyes fixing on the extended hand for a few moments. He considered taking it, then considered not taking it, but he trusted Shiro. He closed his eyes and moved his hand to Shiro’s, taking ahold of it and beginning to pull himself to his feet. “We’re… We’re going to have to leave… soon…”

He managed to keep his legs beneath him and stood, refusing to look down at his body and see all the blood on him, refusing to acknowledge the drying blood on his face that stuck to his face, crusted and uncomfortable. It was better to not focus on it. It would be better not to fixate on it until he was somewhere that he would be able to wash the blood off of himself.

Not here. He wasn’t sure how he’d react if he let himself think about it for too long.

“How are we going to clean up? We should just go. You- you can pay off the police department. They can leave it out of their findings. Right? We should just go.”

Shiro shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “They’re… they’re gonna find my blood and know I… and know I killed him. I… I killed him, Keith. I can’t just- I can’t…” Shiro gave a weak groan, both hands lifting up to his head as he took a stumbled step backwards. “How did you do this? He… he was a monster and I-I feel like I could be sick.” 

There was an awkward pause. Shiro figured he wasn’t going to get an answer, and began to part his lips to say something likely panicked, but a beep from his ear cut him off before he could even get an anxious sound from his throat. Shiro lifted his hand and answered the call with a click, closing his eyes and tipping his head up as he waited for Matt’s voice to fill his head. 

“I’m outside. You guys should hurry up and get out here. Your suit says you’re not doing too good, Shiro.” 

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, uh-... but we need to, uh- we need to clear the crime scene. My blood. It’s on the floor-”

“Woah, woah, Shiro. Slow down.” 

“I can’t slow down, Matt!” Shiro’s voice was sharp like the crack of a whip. Like a band pulled too taut, bound to snap. “I-I’m sorry. Didn't meant to... it’s just all rushing at me.” 

There was a slight pause on Matt’s end. “That’s alright, Shiro. You’re fine. Just… go ahead and leave. We’ll take care of it. Hell, maybe Lotor can even take care of it.” 

Shiro’s eyes shot open. “Zarkon is his father, Matt!” 

Another silence. “Oh. Yeah. Duh.” 

A deep sigh left Shiro’s lips as he shook his head, hand raising up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding. He just wanted to sit down somewhere for awhile and think. 

“Fuck it.” Another wave of numbness washed over Shiro, and he shook his head again. “We’ll figure it out. Keith and I will be right there.” 

Shiro let his hand fall by his side and looked up at Keith, brow furrowed, eyes tired and glassy again. “Let’s just go.” 

“Let’s go,” Keith agreed in the same sort of murmur.

Why had this shaken him so much? He’d killed so many people. He’d burned people, he’d listened to their dying screams- he’d burned Sendak to death without hesitation and without even flinching. Was it the blood? Was it the fact that it covered his face, his clothes? Was it the way that Shiro had killed someone? Was it knowing that he, in a way, made Shiro kill someone?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t even want to be open to the thought that he… that he could have made Shiro, his puppy… do something like this…

He stumbled to the door, hand settling on the handle before he realised the rest of the security still in the building.  
“Should we go out of the window? We could… it would probably be… quicker. Safer. We wouldn’t run into more than two people- only two guards stand outside and if we run… we can get past them. Or I…”

No, he couldn’t kill them in this mindset. Not unarmed, and it wasn’t like he could get to a flamethrower.

Not that Shiro would want to see him do that. 

Shiro shook his head. “Let’s just go out the way we came,” he said, nearly dragging himself to Keith’s side. His shoulder ached. His whole body felt uncomfortable -- sticky with sweat and his own crusted blood. Hell, he might have even been walking with a limp, chest met with a stabbing sort of pain with every step. 

Another broken rib? Shiro couldn’t even find the strength to care. 

Just like he didn't care about opening up the door and stepping into the hall -- numb to the core as he made his way down the empty corridor, the chance of encountering guards not even on his mind. 

“Shiro, be careful,” Matt warned in his ear. 

Shiro ignored him, and pressed the button to the elevator at the end of the hall. He turned and waited for Keith to catch up, eyes on the ground. He hadn’t put much thought into the blood splattered about Keith’s face and upper body until then… part of him didn't want to see it. But part of him wanted to try and clean it off. 

The numbness, though, kept him from doing anything but stare at the floor while he waited. 

Keith, despite how the idea of touching someone made him feel sick right now, took ahold of Shiro’s hand. He kept his head down, not wanting to take the risk of looking at Shiro and upsetting him with the blood splattered about his face.   
“We’ll be okay,” he said quietly, reassuring Shiro as best as he could, moving just a little closer to him. “We’ll get out of here and figure everything out from there. No problem.”

Shiro’s eyes opened a little wider when he felt Keith’s hand around his own. Without thinking, he held on a little tighter, breath stuttering as the elevator door grated open before them. It took him a moment or so to even think about stepping forwards. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding his head. They started forwards into the elevator together. “Yeah. Everything’s going to be okay.”


	25. Office Hours

“I still think you should have gone to the hospital. Both of you.” 

Matt’s voice was quiet as he unwrapped the bandages from Shiro’s chest. The three of them had been in Shiro’s master bathroom, Shiro sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the sink, Matt on his knees before him, and Keith sat upon the toilet seat, an ice pack on his head. Matt had ordered them both up there so he could redo some of their dressings and clean some wounds -- he claimed he read somewhere on WebMD not to let fleshwounds sit for too long without cleaning, and had been rather persistent in the three days that passed since the fight in Zarkon’s manor. 

Shiro didn't respond. He… he hadn’t been responding to most things, really. The past few days had been quiet staring and empty nods for the most part, all aside from some business calls he had to make from home. He sat alone in his room most of the time, cats curled up at his sides, dark gaze trained upon his TV and the news channel displayed upon it. The office wasn’t fairing too well without him, but oddly, and for the first time ever really, Shiro didn't care. 

Something was… wrong with him. Really wrong with him. 

Matt gave a soft sigh at the silence that met his worried mumble, and leaned back on his knees, patting for the first aid kit at his side. He was careful cleaning Shiro’s stab wound -- it looked the worst out of the other cuts and bruises. Even with all of the cleaning, Matt was sure it was getting infected. He could see the fever in Shiro’s eyes. Feel how hot his forehead was whenever he’d reach his hand up to check. Notice the quiver of his jaw or the tremble of his hands. 

“We could make it a real under the table sort of thing and sneak you guys both in. They could look at Keith’s head, and give you some antibiotics for your shoulder. I think that would be best, don’t you?” 

There was a long, quiet sort of pause before Shiro shook his head. He tensed a little when Matt wiped at his wound, but that too seemed to be his only spaced reaction. Matt gave a worried furrow of his brow, and turned to look at Keith, eyes tired behind his glasses. 

“What do you think, Keith? I… I’m no doctor, but…” He trailed off, flicking his eyes towards the quiet Shiro. Matt looked back at Keith, his eyes showing something his lips couldn't quite say. 

Keith glanced between them, using one hand to keep the ice pack held down on his head. Matt had insisted that he needed it for a headache he barely had, and with one glance at the state Shiro was in he’d lost the energy to fight it. It was for Shiro’s sake, he insisted. He couldn’t make Shiro more uncomfortable.

“I think it would be too suspicious,” he said, glancing over at Shiro. “We could call someone over? Someone with medical training who would be better? But… a hospital is too risky. Even going in under the table.”

He moved his hand to settle on Shiro’s after a moment. The touch managed to earn a flick of Shiro’s eyes, and a slight twitch of his fingers, but he didn't do much else. 

Keith shook his head after a few moments, sighing.  
“Sorry, Matt. It would just… the position it could put Shiro in is too risky. Even if we got him in somehow, without anyone noticing, what if someone just passed the room and saw him? Noticed him? A doctor we couldn’t trust came into the wrong room and blabbed when they went on break? Even last time, when he was admitted somewhat publicly, it was all over the news for weeks. If he goes in privately, if it’s kept a secret, how would people react when they find out? He’s not done anything public for days. The rumours… it…”

He shook his head, though immediately felt the headache begin to pound and pulse, as if to warn him not to. He held the ice pack on just a little more firmly.

“It’s better to stay home,” he finished on, curling his fingers a little more firmly around Shiro’s hand, looking over at him. “Somewhere familiar would help more with the, uh… the trauma. If we could take him out somewhere to get him fresh air, that would be great, but a public figure like him being so spaced would, again, be all over the news. It’s not worth it.”

Matt nodded a little. He finished cleaning Shiro’s stab wound, and moved to the other cut that trailed down his chest. That one didn't look as nasty, not as red with a more healthy sort of scabbing -- Matt didn't even have to stitch that one up. However there was no doubt it was going to scar… and there was no doubt it hurt when Matt applied pressure to it. He could see that in the way Shiro’s nose crinkled.

“That makes sense. I’m not even sure he could-... I’m not even sure he wants to talk to the press. Right, Shiro?” Matt gave him a smile. “Those assholes just want a good story out of you.”

Shiro offered a gentle nod. Hey, at least that was something. 

Matt gave one final wipe of Shiro’s cut, and leaned back, focusing his stare back onto Shiro’s stab wound. It looked downright awful -- the skin around it pink and swollen, the scabbing dark and painful looking. Matt couldn’t tell if it was his stitching job or if something had gotten into Shiro’s system the moment he was stabbed, either way it was bad.

“I can talk to Lotor. Have him send over, like, a personal doctor or something,” Matt murmured. “I mean, he’s helped us enough already.” 

Surprisingly, Shiro’s quiet voice spoke up from where he sat. 

“Too much,” he mumbled. Both Matt and Keith looked up quickly, eyes widening. Shiro looked at each of them with a dull sort of stare, and then turned his gaze back to the floor. “Are you almost done? I need to get back to the news.” 

Matt offered a frown. “I-... yeah, but… maybe you shouldn’t watch the news tonight. Come downstairs -- I’ll order some Chinese food? We can pig out.” 

Shiro shook his head. “I feel too sick,” he said quietly. “I just want to stay in bed.” 

“Shiro…” Matt’s voice trailed off. He looked up to Keith for help, a concerned divot creasing between his brow. 

“Give us a few moments alone,” he said softly to Matt, his eyes still fixed on Shiro. He wasn’t going to let him watch the news, but staying in bed… that wouldn’t be too good for him either. “Just a little bit. I can get him to bed on my own if need be, but you should probably… wash your hands or get some food or something.”

He was kinda just fumbling for excuses to get Matt out of the room, but he was sure that he was getting his point across. His eyes were still fixed on Shiro as he held tighter to his hand, almost as if he was trying to get a little more of a response from Shiro. The little twitch of his fingers had been nice, but he wanted to get more of a response. He wanted to help stir Shiro from this daze he’d been in. Trauma could do a hell of a lot of damage.

Honestly, it had been so long since Keith had been in a state he’d forgotten how bad it made him feel. He’d only felt that helplessly bad when his father had died. He couldn’t remember how long it had taken him to get better. Logically, he was aware that it had taken him months to get out of such a state on his own and years to get better, but if he tried to access those memories or figure it out, it was such a distant blur he assumed it had only been a few days. 

A few months, though, was going to be unlikely for Shiro. Not just because the person who had died wasn’t close to Shiro in any way, but because he had support. He had some people to offer him help. Keith liked to think he was more helpful than he was, but that was irrelevant. Shiro had more people at his fingertips for help than Keith had had in his whole life.

Part of him wanted to think Shiro was selfish for that. How dare he be traumatised when he’s got this much more privilege than Keith did? He had to smother that thought out, though. Better than to push it away for it to fester. He had to remind himself that Shiro was allowed to be traumatised, to have feelings, to be upset about what had happened. He had to remind himself that Shiro still letting him be this close was important, and nice. That it was already a sign of strength. During Keith’s low point, he hadn’t spoken to anyone. He hadn’t even spoken to Shiro.

He glanced up at Matt, offering an apologetic sort of smile, still consciously reminding himself to be nice.  
“Uh, please? If anything happens I’ll call for you.”

Matt sat for a moment, looking back to Shiro, and then to Keith. However, instead of arguing, he offered a gentle nod of his head, and started to push up from the floor. 

“Alright,” he said quietly. Matt rested a hand on Shiro’s good shoulder and gave a slight, friendly sort of squeeze, before standing up straight and turning to Keith. “You can finish wrapping up his chest, right?”

“I, uh, can try my hardest. I’m not the best at doing it to someone else, but I can promise I won’t make it any worse.”

Matt offered a twitch of a smile. “Alright,” he repeated, nodding his head. “I’ll be downstairs. Ordering the food.”

He turned around and started to the door, opening it with a creak and holding his foot out so the cats didn't get in -- the last thing he wanted was for cat hair to get into Shiro’s wounds. Before leaving, however, Matt turned around and looked right into Keith’s eyes with his own round, concerned ones. Again, his stare said something his lips couldn’t. The gaze seemed to plead a sort of ‘please help him’ or an ‘I trust you’, but Matt’s mouth did not move. No words left his tongue. 

Once he figured Keith got the message, he turned and shut the door behind him, leaving Keith and Shiro in a heavy silence. 

Keith turned to look at Shiro, his brows furrowed with concern and his eyes wide. He moved one hand to cup Shiro’s cheek gently, running his thumb over his cheekbone. Shiro’s eyes widened a little bit, once again allowing Keith a momentary glance. Any other day he would have leaned into it. He would have smiled and blushed. Right then and there, all he could manage was a spare glance, and a slight raise of his shoulders. 

“Still not got much to say, puppy?” he asked softly, though his lips tugged into a smile at his own words. “I’ve not been scolded for three days, I might even be starting to miss it.”

He looked at Shiro’s face, scanning it for a few moments to see some kind of a reaction. He might have imagined the smile that twitched at Shiro’s lips. He probably did- Shiro only rarely smiled lately. 

“You don’t mind me wrapping your wounds, do you? I could call Matt back in for it if you’d feel better. He might nag a bit but I feel like he could do a better job than I will.” He reached down for the bandages and disinfectant, glancing at the variety of things that the small medical kit held. He’d only really had bandages at home, none of these fancy products and painkillers and whatever. Maybe his lack of proper care was why his wounds took so long to heal. Probably. “Ah, no harm in trying. I mean, what’ll be the worst that could happen? There’s nothing much I can do when your ribs are already mostly broken.”

His type of humour might not have been best for the situation, but at least he was putting effort in.  
“I’ll try to be quick, alright?”

Shiro nodded gently, swallowing hard as he looked away. He could feel Keith waiting for more of a reaction -- for more emotion -- but Shiro had nothing to give. He felt hollow. Empty. Numb. No matter how much he reached for feeling, how much he clawed at his nerves for anything, he’d just fall into his fuzzy daze. Fall into the memory of what it felt like to drive to leg of that chair through Zarkon’s throat… the memory of the bloodspray and the slump of the body…

Fall into the odd numbness of it all. 

He felt Keith begin to wrap up his chest and shoulder -- Shiro tried to help by lifting his arms, but they felt so heavy at his sides. Not to mention the stab wound scolded him sharply with a stab all the way down his body. He just slumped, and let Keith work, wishing he could enjoy the trail of Keith’s fingertips across his body. Wondering why he didn't…

“What if it was you…?” Shiro murmured after a good ten minutes or so of silence. 

The words left him and his numbed lips without prompting. His head felt empty, devoid of thought. Proper thought, anyways. It seemed as if whatever he was saying seemed to come out of… well… nowhere. Shiro felt Keith’s hands stop where they were on his shoulder. He didn't look up at Keith, didn't try to see his reaction. Didn't try and gauge his confusion. 

He didn't wait for Keith to ask him what he’d been talking about. 

“I didn't want to kill Zarkon. I… I wasn’t even going to let you do it. But… but I did. And I didn't even think about it.” Shiro spoke in a low whisper, as if he was afraid someone would hear him. It was the first time he admitted to killing Zarkon out loud since it happened -- and it was the first time he felt something shoot across the layer of numbness that had settled upon him. 

That something had been an icy cold fear. 

Shiro ignored it, and continued, still quiet. “What if… what if I did that to you? When we were fighting? Before I knew you were… you know…” A shiver crawled up Shiro’s spine, and a tremble racked his body. He was sure Keith could feel it -- with his hands on his bare skin and all. “What if I did that to you without thinking about it?” 

Keith paused.

He hadn’t thought about that. Even when he’d been fighting Shiro, even if he’d been close to losing a fight with Shiro, he hadn’t stopped to consider anything that could have happened after Shiro won. He’d never thought Shiro would have killed him. Even if he’d considered it, again, he wouldn’t have thought about what came after. Why should he? He’d be dead, he wouldn’t be there to deal with the aftermath.

“Then I’d be dead,” Keith said, perhaps a little more bluntly than he’d wanted to. Perhaps a little more bluntly than Shiro wanted to hear it. Shiro’s breath hitched and his eyes widened a bit, eyes flicking down and training themselves on the floor. “And you’d have one less person to help you out after. Then you’d continue your life and I wouldn’t. That’s that. And that’s all the thought that you’re going to give it.” 

He paused, looking at Shiro, seeing how he’d paled a little. It likely wasn’t what he should have said, he was realising that now.

“You didn’t kill me, Shiro. That’s it. End of story. I’m still here, with you.” He kept his eyes on Shiro’s face, and slowly moved his hand to brush some of Shiro’s hair away, cupping his cheek. “But… even if you had… I wouldn’t have hated you. I wouldn’t have even been angry at you. And I’m not angry at you now, for what you did. I’m not ashamed or disappointed. You did what you had to do. You’re here, talking about ‘what if you’d killed me’, but you saved my life just a few days ago. And you aren’t focusing on that.”

A sigh escaped his lips. He shook his head, knowing that his words wouldn’t get through to Shiro properly, that they’d still be dazed and distorted by the trauma, by the thickness that made Shiro’s head swim.  
“You did a good thing, Shiro. You’re beating yourself up too much for the bad thing that you had to do for it.”

Shiro shivered again. He didn't know why he was shivering -- he felt hot actually. Too hot. For some reason, his teeth continued to clatter.

“But I didn't have to-...” he cut himself off with another stuttered breath, his eyes settling closed. There were a few more moments of deep breaths before he could speak again -- and when he did, it was in that whisper from before. “I didn't have to kill him. And even if I had to… I… didn't gave to kill him like that…” 

Where had all of that been? In the three days that passed, Shiro hadn’t felt anything but pain from his wounds and the numbness in his chest. It seemed as though that fear… that guilt manifested its way into his system the moment it all felt best to strike. Perhaps it was because Matt hadn’t been in the room? Perhaps… 

Perhaps it was because it was one of the first times he’d been properly alone with Keith. 

Properly alone with the man who watched him slaughter Zarkon with his own two hands.

Shiro ducked his head, teeth still chattering. “Why aren’t you mad at me?” His voice had risen from a whisper into a nearly breathless murmur. “Why… why aren’t you angry? I killed someone… I… I killed someone on top of you. You should be mad at me.” 

He looked up, his trembling doubling his severity, eyes dark and dulled with the glaze of fever.  
“Be mad at me!” The volume of his own voice scared him. “Tell… tell me what I did was wrong. Tell me I’m wrong. Something… something in me has to be wrong or I would have never…” 

The energy seemed to run out. Shiro trailed off, his voice going soft. He let his head drop again, shoulders caving. If it wasn’t for Keith’s hands on his chest, he would have slumped right over onto the floor.

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro after only a moment, wrapping both arms around his trembling shoulders and pulling Shiro to lean against him. He held him there, running his fingers through his hair, hoping desperately that this would soothe him.  
“Going by that logic, you should be mad at me. I’ve killed. I killed someone in front of you. Why aren’t you mad at me? Why don’t you hate me for that?” he asked, still holding Shiro in that tight embrace. He had to admit that some part of him was scared of the answer he was going to get.

Shiro did hate him. At one point, he did. He hated him before knowing who was under the mask, and he hated him for a day when he found that out. Aside from that, Shiro hadn’t hated him, but… he didn’t have a reason not to.

Either this answer was going to give Shiro an insight on why Keith didn’t hate him, or it was going to be the last thing Keith heard before he was kicked out. He was feeling a little optimistic today, though, and was thinking that it would help.

Shiro let himself lean all of his weight onto Keith’s chest, slumping forwards in the most pathetic of ways. He wanted to hug Keith back -- to hold him tight and close -- but his arms were too heavy to move. All Shiro could do was let Keith hold him, and shiver in his arms. 

“Because I could never hate you,” Shiro whispered. He settled his eyes closed, feeling Keith’s steady heartbeat thump in his chest. “I love you. No matter what, I could never hate you.”

Keith hesitated a few moments, as if he hadn’t quite expected that answer, but then his hold on Shiro tightened and he pressed into his hair, offering a small sort of smile.  
“There,” he murmured. “And now you know why I’m not angry at you.”

He continued combing his hands through Shiro’s hair. He didn’t want to pull away, not wanting to risk losing this perfect calm that they’d finally found, this little pocket of safety provided by the affection. Feeling Shiro learning against his chest, trusting him fully… it felt nice. It was fulfilling. He wouldn’t have given this up if he had the choice.

“We should get you to bed,” he said softly after a few moments. “Then you can get some rest, okay? And I’ll keep you safe until tomorrow.”

Shiro swallowed hard, nodding his head into Keith’s shoulder. “I’m guessing you won’t let me watch the news?” he asked tiredly, trying to match his shaky breaths with Keith’s. 

“What, the same news you’ve been watching all day? You want to hear the same stories again?” Keith asked, keeping his tone light to try and cheer Shiro up. “Afraid not, Shiro. You’ll have to settle for the new stories they tell tomorrow.”

Oddly, Shiro’s lips quirked into the gentlest of smiles, but he didn't respond. The bathroom tiles below him began to feel bitterly cold all of a sudden, the crawl of gooseflesh encasing his body. Shiro gave a shudder, and curled further into Keith’s chest, using his warmth. He shifted his legs so he sat on his knees, moving closer, allowing Keith to hold him tighter. 

“Will you stay with me, at least?” Shiro tried again with the same pathetic tone in his question. “I’m cold… like really cold…” 

Keith offered a small smile, hooking one arm under Shiro’s and beginning to try and urge him to his feet.  
“Of course I will,” he promised, a small smile curled onto his lips. “But you should get to bed first, alright? It won’t be too comfortable sleeping in here, and I can’t imagine that it’ll do your wounds any good.”

He’d let Matt know that they were going to go to sleep, of course, but right now he was more focused on getting Shiro there than making sure Matt knew where they were going.   
“Come on, get up.”

Shiro nodded, shifting his legs and slowly pushing up into a stand. He gave a strained sort of whimper at the pull of his gunshot wound, leaning heavily on Keith, his legs wobbly beneath him. He felt worse than he did when they had gone in to the bathroom -- before Matt had even cleaned his wounds. His head was light and the vertigo was ruthless, body still stuck in its fit of shivers. Luckily Keith was there to support his weight. Otherwise, Shiro might not have made it to his bed by himself. 

Keith guided him out of the master bathroom and towards the bed, one arm wrapped around his back, and the other up on his chest to keep him somewhat upright. Shiro nearly tripped over himself two times before Keith had eased him to a sit on the side of the bed, his body heavy and cold as he scooted backwards and patted for the top of his blankets. The cats both hopped up at his sides, chirping for his attention, but Shiro ignored them in favor of getting beneath the blankets. He was slow as he slipped beneath the covers, melting back into his comfortable mattress and turning his tired eyes up to Keith. 

Somehow, he managed to lift his arm and hold out his hand, a wan smile quirking up the corners of his lips. 

“You better get a spot before the cats take it,” he said quietly. 

“Oh, I have competition?” Keith asked, moving to the bed and pressing up beside Shiro as he slipped under the covers, ignoring Black’s indignant meow as he stole her usual space. Keith’s head settled on Shiro’s chest- carefully avoiding anywhere that could have still hurt- and he wrapped one arm gently around him. A soft sigh escaped him as he wrapped his arms around his chest, sighing. 

His neck still hurt sometimes. It was covered in splotchy purple bruises from where Zarkon had grabbed his throat so roughly, and when Shiro wasn’t there he’d look in the mirror and count the finger marks. He could see all ten bruises from where his fingers had dug in the most, and now that the bruises were beginning to change colour and fade he was waiting for the day that he wouldn’t be able to count any of them, and from there he was just hoping his neck would heal without trouble.

“How long are you going to let us look after you like this?” he asked quietly. “I know you don’t really like that we’re looking after you like this, but… I can’t risk anything else happening. I know you want to do things, but you could barely walk here with my help. I feel like it’s just a matter of time before you start pushing us away to do things yourself.”

Shiro opened his eyes, frowning gently as he turned his gaze down to Keith on his chest.   
“I haven’t even thought about it,” he murmured, too tired to let on any sort of humor. Shiro shivered again, drawing up his legs to tangle with Keith’s. “I guess until this fever passes and I can go to work. I don’t know what I’m going to say though… my face is busted… my shoulders going to be sore for months. Did you really have to stab me?” 

“I didn’t mean to! It’s not like I was thinking when it happened. Next time I’ll make sure to be more gentle.”

Shiro gave a gentle huff. He felt Atlas leap up onto the bed and curl up on his vacant side, just by his hand. Shiro managed to pet her weakly with his index and middle finger, eyes settling to a close again. He stayed quiet for a few moments, his breaths heavy and slow. 

“You… you really think k-… what I did to Zarkon… you think it was the right thing?” Shiro’s next inhale stuttered a bit, but he held the breath in his chest, and let it go in a smooth, ironed exhale. “I mean, he’s the reason the car crashed. He’s the reason you… you’ve killed people. He hurt Lotor. But for some reason I still feel…” 

He shivered again, teeth chattering. Shiro waited for it to pass before he spoke again.   
“I feel so different. Wrong. Not… not like myself. Is that what… is that what killing someone does to you?” 

“It’s what a shit ton of stress and fresh trauma will do,” Keith answered, pulling him closer, nestling up closer to Shiro’s chest. “He was a monster, Shiro. He’s killed hundreds directly and hundreds of thousands indirectly. You might not feel like you did the right thing, but you’d saved countless lives by ending just one. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

He hugged him a little closer, closing his eyes and rubbing Shiro’s hips gently. He sighed, still snuggled up to him. He was hoping that he was helping Shiro somehow.  
“I know that what you did was right. I don’t just think it was right, I know it was. Not just for me, for you, or whoever else, but your parents… my mom…” his breath caught a moment but he shook it off. Not now. He’d focus on it later. “They’ve been avenged. It’s kinda… it’s rough, sure, but… you did something good. Nobody else will go through what you went through because of Zarkon.”

Shiro tried to take Keith’s words to heart. He tried to hold them close and hold them tightly -- clinging to each and every one. He needed something to grasp onto. Something to keep his hold from slipping on whatever weak twine he had that tethered him to safety. He ran the words through his head again… Keith’s gentle voice an echo in his mind…

But then he felt his system stutter. 

“Your mom?” Shiro whispered, fluttering his eyes open. He flicked his gaze to Keith, his gaze concerned, even through the haze of fever. “You mean… you mean you think that Zarkon-...?”

He didn't need to finish, and he didn't need an answer. Shiro could see it reflected in Keith’s empty, tired stare. Shiro’s throat clicked when he swallowed, and he looked away, wanting to hug Keith closer but not quite possessing the strength to do so. He just shivered and curled his legs up closer to the man beside him, teeth chattering as he thought of something to say.

“We’ll find her,” he said weakly. “She… she can’t be… no. No.” Shiro closed his eyes and shook his head. When he spoke again, his tired, feverish voice was nothing but a whisper. “I’ll find her.” 

Keith shook his head, already feeling some bitter defeat the longer he dwelled on it, the longer he spent thinking about her.   
“He told me,” Keith said, though his voice was quiet, stuttered, weak. “He said if I… if I didn’t do my job…”

His chest ached with an unfamiliar sort of numbness, a grieving pain that filled his system with an uncomfortable chill. He hadn’t wanted to think about it, about Zarkon’s influence, about what could have happened.  
“He said that he could make her disappear. Those… those weren’t his exact words, but he-” Had it always been this hard to keep his voice steady, or his breathing even? He’d been waiting for this kind of a call for years now, waiting for it, anticipating the day where he’d be told she wasn’t coming home. Did he feel guilty? He’d already killed his dad, why feel bad about helping kill his mom too?

He shook his head, though. Leaving it there. Leaving the bitter thought behind, pushing it back. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want it to poison his mind. He didn’t want to be overwhelmed by the thoughts of his mom, his guilt, his influence, or how pointless his work had been. He’d only wanted the money to help her feel more at home when she came back. He’d only wanted to fix his house for her, or he would have left it behind years ago.

He didn’t want to focus on this. He was meant to be looking after Shiro, not wallowing in self-pity and guilt.

“It’s not important.” The tears burning his eyes begged to differ. “It isn’t. I’ll… I’ll get over it. I’m meant to be worrying about you! I don’t want you worrying about me.”

Shiro’s feverish eyes were sad and round, his brow furrowed over his tired stare. “I’m always going to worry about you,” he said softly. It took him a moment, but Shiro managed to lift his arm, shifting a bit so he could place his hand on Keith’s cheek. It hurt his shoulder wound -- but Shiro stifled his wince and his whimper, running his thumb across Keith’s cheek. 

“I won’t stop until I find out what happened to her,” he promised. Even if his head was foggy with fever, and even if he wasn’t going to remember much of that conversation the next time he woke up, the genuine seriousness of his tone was firm. Unwavering. “I’ll figure out what happened. I will…” 

He trailed off, body racking with a shudder. Shiro closed his eyes and curled up a little closer to Keith. That cringe from before finally crossed his features, the stabwound hot and throbbing with waves of aching pain. He’d have to take more pain medicine soon but… perhaps after a nap. His head felt so dizzy. So tired. 

“I should probably go… go to the hospital…” Shiro murmured. “Or at least get a doctor to come here… this infection’s no joke. Who knew, after everything, getting stabbed by the guy I love would take me down.” Shiro’s lips had been quirked into a gentle smile when he mumbled that, but upon opening his eyes and seeing Keith’s slightly paled face, Shiro shook his head a little. “No- don’t worry. I’m not… on my deathbed or anything. Just exaggerating.” 

“I’ll get Matt to call Lotor,” Keith mumbled, though he was being somewhat dismissive about it, not wanting to fixate on what Shiro had said any longer. “And he can bring someone over. Alright?” 

He curled up a little more around Shiro, holding him just a little closer. Something about Shiro’s comment had unsettled him more than he’d thought that it would’ve done. He’d lost too much to even think of losing Shiro too by now.  
“We’ll get you cleaned up. You’ll be fine, right? No harm with it. Someone will check you over and say you’ll be fine, give you some painkillers and tell you to stay in bed and that’ll be it. End of it all. Right? You’re fine.”

He pressed just a little closer, though. He knew Shiro would be fine, of course he did, but he couldn’t take that risk. He couldn’t risk upsetting Shiro now and that potentially being the last thing he did. And to think he’d been planning on killing Shiro. Like hell he would have been able to go through with it. He should have known he’d never have been able to.

Oh, he wished he’d been unaware of who the Black Paladin truly was. If only it had been the other way around. If only Shiro knew him instead of him knowing Shiro. But he couldn’t pick and choose, and it was too late anyway.

Shiro nodded. “I’m fine...” he echoed, conviction in his tone despite his tired voice. He settled his eyes closed and held Keith closer. 

“We’re both going to be fine.”

~~~

A week and a personal doctor later, and Shiro’s fever was long gone. As was his willingness to be looked after, of course. 

Matt and Keith could no longer keep him bedridden. They could no longer keep him from pacing up and down the hall while he powered through company calls. From sitting upright on the couch, typing away at email after email. From already getting to work perfecting and refining his suit and mask again in secret. They both tried, of course -- Matt with his chastising and Keith with his judging stares whenever they’d find him cooped up and overworked, but Shiro ignored them both. There was work to be done. Plenty. 

He was finally going into the building. After days of lounging around, hurt and wallowing in his own listlessness, Shiro was nothing less but excited. Excited and nervous. The press conference wasn’t until Friday, but that didn't mean he was going to have to squash rumors and lies spread about by workers. Already he’d been asked if he was terminally ill, if he was quitting the job, if he was going crazy. Curtis, of course, had stopped messaging about two days into getting ignored, and Shiro wasn’t quite ready to face the consequences of that either. Despite it all, however, it felt nice to look in the mirror and see himself again. His polished, dapper, handsomely dressed self. Even if Matt and Keith both groaned when he stepped downstairs to show off his outfit. 

“Oh shut up,” Shiro grumbled, rolling his eyes as he turned and started towards the kitchen. It was early in the morning, and he had spent most of it getting ready -- none of it for eating. He plucked up an apple from the fruit bowl and stepped back into the living room. 

They had all slept down there last night, together on the couch. Most nights since Zarkon’s manor had been on the couch together. If not, Matt would take the couch, and Shiro and Keith would take the bedroom. It was rare they were apart.

“I have to go in today. I promised four of my coworkers, and Lotor’s coming in for lunch so I can personally thank him for what he did,” Shiro said, taking a bit of his apple. He chewed, swallowed, and then pointed at the two of them on the couch. “Matt, you should probably go in soon, too. You’ve been working from home- er… my couch -- for weeks now.” 

Matt shrugged tiredly, slumping back into the cushions of the couch. “Rather not.” 

“This is literally your boss asking you to go into work,” Shiro said, raising his brow. Matt, again, did nothing but shrug. Shiro rolled his eyes, took another bite of his apple, and turned to Keith. “Are you going to be alright today while I’m gone? I… I still think you should come in with me. We could talk to Lotor together. And...” 

And he didn't want to be alone. Without Keith. For a whole day. 

“... you could use some fresh air, I think.”

Keith groaned, slumping back down in the chair and pressing into the couch cushions.  
“Fresh air and to hang around snobs? I’ll pass,” Keith muttered, glancing back up at Shiro. “You’re the only snob I can stand. And if I go I’ll have to wear a suit or something, won’t I?”

He wanted to go. Well- he kinda wanted to go. He wanted to be with Shiro and spend the day with him again, but he didn’t want to be with the coworkers Shiro had. Just because his relationship with Shiro had gotten better didn’t mean that Shiro’s friends and whoever else was in his workplace would suddenly want him around. On top of that, he’d mostly just be sat around in Shiro’s room doing nothing. He wasn’t an employee and he definitely didn’t have any of the skills needed for that kind of work.

“And if Matt’s not going, I don’t have to. Right? He can stop me from… stealing, or arson or something. See? I have a supervisor.”

Regardless, he was already beginning to get to his feet, dusting himself off. He’d need to shower first, and Shiro could get him something to wear in the meantime. He hated going to Shiro’s workplace and he hated it even more that he was going to have to dress up just to be respected to some degree.

Shiro’s shoulders had slumped at the initial refusal, but he noted the way Keith stood up with a giddy sort of smirk. 

“I’d rather keep an eye on you myself,” he hummed, taking another bite of his breakfast. When he spoke again, it was slurred past the apple in his mouth. “I am the Black Paladin, after all. I need to keep in good contact with my arch nemesis.” 

He reached over and slipped his arm around Keith’s waist as he stepped past, his touch gentle but intimate as he playfully tugged Keith into his waist. There was a slight ache in his shoulder at the action, but Shiro ignored it with nothing but a wince as he hugged Keith close. 

“Isn’t that right, Red?” 

Fresh apple had been on his breath when he spoke, hois voice low and teasing. Shiro was in an oddly good mood for the first time in awhile -- perhaps it had been because he was finally getting out of the apartment. And because Keith was coming with him. 

Keith’s eyes flicked up to Shiro, then glanced to Matt for a moment to see his response to the unprompted- and quite overdone- show of affection from Shiro. Though, seeing the grimace on Matt’s lips he was tempted to play along. Though seeing Shiro so enthusiastic about this had it’s own appeal.  
“I… suppose I could have someone keep an eye on me,” he murmured, looking up at Shiro. “But I want you on your best behaviour, Black Paladin.” He took Shiro’s tie, curling it around his hand and using it to pull Shiro a little closer to him, bringing Shiro’s face down nearer to his own. “Or I might try to kill you again.”

He offered a little smile, though his tone had mirrored Shiro’s as best as he could manage, his voice a little deeper and as husky as he could be bothered to make it. He’d been snacking on nothing but chocolate for the last fifteen minutes, having made his way through a platter of expensive chocolates that Shiro had been given by a coworker a few months ago. They’d remained mostly untouched, aside from Matt’s occasional theft.

It seemed as though Shiro had bit off more than he could chew. His face flushed, eyes going wide before flicking off to the floor. Despite his sheepishness, he didn't pull his hand from Keith’s waist -- even while his shoulders rose and his throat clicked, Shiro’s arm remained wrapped around the small of Keith’s back. 

Shiro gave a small laugh. “Yeah,” he said, voice quiet. His smile, however, was still bright. “Just, uh, don’t set my building on fire again.”

Matt groaned from the couch. “I thought we said we could keep the PDA on the downlow,” he sighed, reaching his hand up to his head. 

Blinking, Shiro looked up from Keith, and offered a frown to the man on his couch. “PDA? This-... this is my living room.” 

“Still gross,” Matt grumbled, feigning a gag and a shudder before reaching his hand over to that box of chocolates Keith had been digging into. 

Keith huffed a little, leaning up and pecking Shiro’s jaw before he pushed away. He snatched one of the chocolates again, popping it into his mouth and looking up at Shiro.  
“I’m going to shower if I’m going there, so, uh, you should probably find me something to wear. I don’t want to go in a hoodie and get glared at all day again.”

He moved around the couch, starting through to Shiro’s room to shower in his ensuite, leaving Matt and Shiro in the living room. He wasn’t going to be more specific if he didn’t need to be- he was going, apparently, and if Shiro wanted him to go he’d need to get those clothes before Keith changed his mind.

After all, who would ever pass up an opportunity to get judged all day by total strangers? The only upside to it was that he’d get to see Curtis again, and he would love to see the look in that man’s eyes seeing him holding Shiro’s hand. Or whatever else Keith felt like doing in the moment to show off.

Shiro, happily turned and followed after him up the stairs, calling a light goodbye to Matt while he planned out Keith’s outfit in his head. He took a large bite of his apple as he stepped into his room -- already hearing the shower hiss behind the closed door of his bathroom. Shiro would be a little late if Keith decided to take his time, but Shiro couldn’t seem to find any heart to care. He was the boss, anyways. The meeting didn't start without him. Keith could take as long as he wanted. 

He started to the closet, flicking through the clothes in the closet for whatever fit Keith best. He wouldn't make Keith wear a suit, of course, but a nice button down and some slacks would work nicely. Shiro found a button down he’d bought for Keith ages ago hanging at the very back of his closet, and took it from its hanger. It was, hilariously, red with black buttons. Sighing, Shiro took it by the bed and laid it out -- inspecting it for wrinkles before moving to the dresser to find some slacks Keith could wear. 

Shiro didn't even hear the shower squeak to a stop. 

A few moments later, the bathroom door opened and Keith came over, a towel around his waist and another draped lazily over his shoulders.   
“This my shirt?” he asked, using his towel to dry his hair out with one hand, picking up the shirt with the other. He could vaguely remember Shiro offering this to him a while ago, followed of course by his inevitable refusal. He hated wearing clothes like this, and having Shiro buy them for him (out of what he then assumed was pity but now knew was an affectionate kind of gesture) had only made it worse. Now, though, he took it from the hanger and began to tug it up over his shoulders, glancing over to Shiro.

“Have you even got any pants in my size?” he asked after a moment, beginning to button up his shirt and opening the drawers on his side of the bed, grabbing a pair of boxers and starting to tug them on. “Not even Matt’s clothes fit me well. I should probably buy some more, too, but…” he couldn’t even mention that he didn’t have the money, knowing that Shiro would just immediately offer some to him. He wasn’t just going to start taking money now that he lived with Shiro.

Shiro was a bit too distracted by Keith’s previous shirtlessness to respond. He even stared a few moments after Keith had buttoned up his dress shirt, eyes wide. However he snapped out of it with a hard swallow and a shake of his head, before turning back to the dresser. 

“You think I would buy you a handsome shirt without an accompanying pair of slacks?” he asked, clearing his throat a little. “It’s in here somewhere. I just have to dig… ah.” 

He leaned back, a pair of folded black pants in his hands. They were tight and fitted, yet made from comfortable and rather handsome fabric. Shiro settled a hand on the dresser and hoisted himself up into a stand, ignoring the bite from his stab wound as he turned to face Keith.

“Try these on.” 

Keith reached out, taking them from Shiro and sitting back on the edge of the bed to begin pulling the slacks on. They fit… nicely, surprisingly. Keith hadn’t even had jeans that fit him this well. The clothes Shiro had gotten him fit better than almost anything else he’d worn in his life. If they weren’t stuffy work clothes, he might have even wanted to wear them more often. They fixed firmly about his waist instead of slipping down and needing a heavy belt, and the cuffs didn’t hang around his ankles. They weren’t too small, biting at his thighs and knees when he walked, and they weren’t so big that he needed to roll them up. Having clothes that actually fit was, for some reason, surprising to him.

Not to mention the relaxed fit of the shirt, the sleeves that settled at the ends of his wrists, where they should, instead of reaching down to his knuckles or straining halfway up his forearm. The buttons around his neck weren’t suffocating as some of the collars on his old t-shirts could be, and all the buttons did up nicely and fit without problem. He’d not work a button-up shirt in a long time, but not even his nicest clothes fit as well as this.

Maybe he should let Shiro get him clothes more often.

“Fits nice,” he muttered, as if it was some kind of a defeat for him to have comfortable clothes. “Not bad, I suppose.”

Shiro noted the dreary tone of Keith’s and stood up, moving closer to him. He lifted his hand and brushed some of Keith’s hair back from his face, features soft as he cocked his head and looked up and down. 

“You look so handsome,” he murmured gently, an easy smile curling the corners of his lips. His hand found Keith’s hip again, settling there and pulling him closer. Shiro’s voice had somehow quieted down to a near whisper when he spoke again. “You always do.” 

Keith’s lips tugged up into a small smile, albeit reluctant, and he settled his hand on Shiro’s chest as he looked fondly up at him.  
“Speak for yourself, Black Paladin,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to Shiro’s lips, which still had that layer of mango chapstick. “Only one of us here has a reputation for his looks.”

He leant in regardless, pushing himself closer and grabbing a fistful of Shiro’s collar to pull him down, bringing him in for a kiss. A slow sort of kiss this time, usually tender for someone like Keith. His eyes closed as he held Shiro there, though his grip did slowly loosen as he enjoyed having their lips together.

Something about Shiro, man. It drove him wild.

Shiro had kissed Keith back, deep and slow. The hand on Keith’s hip rose up to his mid-back and pulled him close, eyes settled close and head tipped to the side. His chest was warm. His heart felt big. Everything about the way Keith looked when he pulled back to breathe -- those soft, heavy lidded eyes, those blush dusted cheeks, those half parted lips -- it made Shiro just want to hold him close and kiss him again and again. 

“I love it when you kiss me like that,” Shiro said, his tone lacking the same joking purr Keith’s had been sporting. “There’s only one thing I love more than that…” 

He relaxed his hold on Keith, lifting his head up and flicking his eyes to the ground. “Keith…” he murmured, voice thoughtful. Slow. “We need to talk. About us. About what we are… I… I know it makes you uncomfortable -- and we don’t have to right now but… sometime soon. Please.” 

Keith pushed Shiro back with a hand on his chest, moving away from the embrace. What was there to say? What was the point in using stupid pet names or calling each other boyfriends? They’d been kissing every time they were alone for days by now, so what was the point in deciding that they needed names or anniversary dates or whatever else?  
“Why?” he muttered. “What is there to talk about? I don’t see the point in talking about it. I’m pretty sure that we’ve got mutual feelings about each other. Is there a blurred line that I don’t know about?”

He fixed his shirt, smoothed his collar, trying to find anything that he could think of doing that meant that he wouldn’t have to look at Shiro, at those stupid puppy-dog eyes as he whined out about why they needed specifics in their ‘relationship’, if that was what it was.

Shiro looked at Keith, shoulders slumped, features softened and sad -- the exact picture of that ‘puppy’ stare Keith had been so determined not to look at. 

“It’s important to me, Keith,” he said, watching as Keith pretended to smooth down his shirt again. “It’s… it’s just really important to me we talk. Especially after all of the communication issues we’ve had in the past few months. I can’t go through thinking that I was only ever sex to you again. You don’t know how much… you don’t…” 

He trailed off, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “There’s plenty to talk about, Keith.” Shiro’s tone matched Keith’s previous mutter. “Like how public you’re comfortable being with me. If you want to kiss in front of all those reporters and the news broadcasters that follow me around. If my phone call to Curtis this morning to tell him that I’m seeing someone else was a good idea. If you’re comfortable dating a vigilant because just because Zarkon is d-... gone, doesn’t mean the city is free of crime. If this… whatever we have- this weird ‘I love you and you love me so what comes next’ thing… is it permanent or is it just...” 

Shiro couldn’t find the word. Keith still wouldn't look at him. In a moment of reckless thoughtlessness, Shiro picked he first word that popped into his head -- one that had come from their conversation the morning after they first had sex. 

“Or is it just ‘physical’.”

At that bitter little sting brought by Shiro’s surprisingly malicious tone, Keith looked at Shiro with more anger in his eyes than he meant, glaring even though he knew Shiro didn’t deserve it.  
“Real mature,” he muttered, his voice twisted with it’s own malicious kind of stab. “You’re asking me a dozen questions as if I’m just going to know the answers. I’ve slept around, whatever, but I’ve never had any kind of a relationship before. What am I supposed to do, fill out a checklist of the boundaries I think I have?”

He just wanted to get out of here. He hated these kinds of conversations, the question about boundaries, the idea of setting rules in a relationship. He didn’t know any of these things. Was Shiro that experienced with relationships that he already knew what he wanted? Or that he already knew what questions they needed to ask? He’d ask Shiro about his sex life and his boundaries with that, see how comfortable that makes him.

Shiro cringed a little, taking a slight step backwards. He didn't mean to start an argument -- he forgot how easy it had been to make Keith defensive. The dark tone of his voice was painful to hear after days of just gentle murmurs between gentle kisses. 

“You asked me what there was to talk about, Keith,” Shiro said, raising his shoulders. “That was my answer. I haven’t really had a real relationship either, Keith -- there was Adam and you know how that went, and then there was whatever I had with Curtis. Both felt so wrong because we never talked. And part of it was my fault of course but... I just don’t want that to happen to us. If there- if there is an ‘us’.” 

He reached a hand up to brush it up through his hair. Shiro looked down to the floor, biting at his lower lip as he searched for something to say. 

“You’re allowed to make boundaries, Keith. No- you deserve to. You need to. Tell me what I’m supposed to do to make you happy. That’s all I’m asking for -- it doesn’t need to be now or tonight or even tomorrow but… if we’re ever going to be anything more than kisses and the occasional sex, we need to talk. And if you can’t do that…” 

Shiro trailed off. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. His voice was barely over a whisper when he spoke again. “Then this isn’t right. And I can’t do it.”

He didn't wait for input. He didn't wait to be yelled at or snapped at. Shiro just turned around, breathed a long, exhausted sigh. “We should go. I’m already going to be late. We can continue this discussion whenever you’re ready.” 

And despite the guilt tugging at his chest, Keith didn’t say anything. He just turned and left, whistling for Kosmo to come out from wherever he was. He’d taken to exploring Shiro’s house almost every day, and he frequently tailed the cats or sat by windows to watch the passing cars, but this time he’d barked happily from the couch, where Matt had been giving him plenty of love in Keith’s absense- and barely managing to keep him away from the chocolate.

“Kos, come here!” Keith cooed, kneeling down as he heard the thump of Kosmo rolling off the couch and landing on the floor, followed closely by the scratching of his claws against the floor as he began to dash over, stopping in front of Keith and sitting, tail thumping excitedly.

“Can he come?” he asked Shiro, that being the clear indicator that their prior conversation wasn’t just over, but wasn’t going to be addressed again for a little while. “He’ll be on his best behaviour.”

Shiro nodded, fixing the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and then reaching down to scoop up his keys as he passed the coffee table. “Of course. We have a lot of animals come through -- service dogs, emotional support dogs, stuff like that. Just keep him on a leash until we get to my office.” 

He turned to Matt on the couch, lifting his hands and gesturing himself. 

“How do I look? Good for the first day back?” 

Matt leaned up, squinting through the lenses of his glasses. “You look great as always, Shiro,” he affirmed with a nod of his head, scooting backwards so he could lean on the cushioned backrest. “But you forgot your makeup. I mean -- you literally have the face of a god but you can see all your bruises.”

Shiro offered a gentle smile. “Didn't forget it. Chose not to wear it,” he said, turning around to make his way towards the door. “We’ll be back around four, four-thirty with traffic. Maybe clean up a little while you’re home? Or go to your own home and say hi to your dad for me?” 

Matt muttered out a half-hearted agreement -- one that meant neither requests were going to be fulfilled -- and slumped back down to where he was. He waved at Keith when he passed the couch, Kosmo’s leash in hand, and then patted absently for the remote. Shiro gave a huff of a laugh and rolled his eyes at the display, but he turned around and opened up his door anyways. 

With one last parting call to Matt, Shiro slipped into the hallway, let Keith and Kosmo follow, and then shut the door and locked it tight. They made their way to the elevator, the silence heavy and awkward until one of Shiro’s neighbors slipped in with them. She was the first of many to ask him if he was okay -- what had happened to his face. Shiro answered her with an assuring smile and said that he’d been fine, that it was nothing, while Keith and Kosmo stood quietly at the side. 

They managed to make their way to the car and get out onto the streets with only a handful of more questions about his face. His disappearance. How tired he looked. If he was sick. Shiro managed to dodge each of them with a professional charm -- one that made him so confident and so trustworthy, whatever could spill past his lips just had to be true. However, Shiro lost the facade the moment he was alone with Keith in the car. 

His smile faded and his worries rose to his features -- furrowing his brow, curling his lips. Still, Keith was silent, so Shiro stayed silent too. It wasn’t until they pulled into the parking facility of his building Shiro spoke.

“This is going to be exhausting,” he muttered, driving up the ramp and turning the corner to try and find his assigned parking spot. “Sorry. We’re going to be stopped a lot. And if Curtis is in today it’s going to be… awkward.” There was a lull of heavy silence again. Shiro swallowed hard and made a rather daring move with his next quiet little statement. “I’m glad I don’t have to do it alone… thank you for coming, Keith.” 

“What, or leave you alone to deal with all of those snobs?” Keith asked, though he sank further and further into his chair with the closer they got to the parking spot, evidently dreading going in. “I have enough mercy to spare you from that. Besides, Kosmo likes playing with them because they think he’s some kind of a feral monster. They get him really excited and he thinks they’re playing when they tell him to leave them alone.” 

He had gone for Shiro’s sake, though. Part of him had agreed to going because he wanted to spend more time with Shiro, of course, but the other part of him had wanted to go because Shiro would be going to a building full of people who would be asking about his face or if he was sick of if something going wrong at home. If Keith went along with Shiro, people already hated him. If Shiro needed some kind of quick escape, Keith could easily find the closest thing that he could break and an accident could happen. Or Kosmo could be let loose.

The possibilities were endless. Keith provided the perfect emergency escapes.

“Let’s just… get this bit over with. The sooner we get to your office, the sooner Kosmo can get out of his leash and he’ll stop chewing on it.” Kosmo whined and looked up at him, head cocked to the side. Usually he was fine wearing a leash- Keith just wanted to provide a reason to leave that wasn’t ‘I hate everyone you work with and they hate me’.

Shiro smiled gently, easing the car to a stop in his parking spot. “Just wait until we get to some of the higher floors before you sick Kosmo on any of my coworkers,” he joked, stopping the car and taking the keys from the ignition. The powerful engine’s purring slowed down to a stop, and the car relaxed. Shiro popped open his door. “We are a health science company -- we do have sick and injured clients that wouldn't take too kindly to getting trampled by a wolf.” 

He stepped out of the car and leaned down to open the back one behind him. He reached forward to pet Kosmo’s head. “Even though you’d never do anything, would you?” he asked in a low, babied voice. “You’d never hurt no one. Right? Right boy?” 

Kosmo barked in response, his tail wagging as he leapt from the car, jumping up at Shiro, his paws settling on Shiro’s legs as he leant in and tried to give him as many kisses as possible. Keith smiled a little, pushing himself out of his seat and closing the car door behind him, Kosmo’s leash in one hand.  
“I don’t know how you make him so soft,” Keith murmured, his gaze softening as he whistled for Kosmo, who turned to look at him and moved to his side instead, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “He’s usually a lot more bitey when he’s feeling affectionate. Have you been training him behind my back to stick to kisses?”

Keith glanced up at the building before him, the pristine glass windows and the walls that never had graffiti, the whole cleanliness of it would have been unsettling enough for him. It was a blatant sign that he wasn’t good enough to be there, that he should turn around and leave, that there was supposed to be a divide between him and Shiro because he was used to dirty, dusty buildings with broken and boarded up windows, covered in graffiti. Because Shiro was used to floor-length glass windows, perfect views of the city, to kind smiles and open doors and green gardens with pedigree cats.

Oh, and the people were the cherry on top. He went from being uncomfortable around the building to feeling entirely unwelcome around the people, knowing that it would probably be best for him and for everyone else if he left just from how they dressed and carried themselves. That wasn’t even getting into how they treated him or how they looked at him like a plague rat.

If he had any sense, he’d have asked Shiro to take him back the second the car stopped.

Shiro looked up at him with a sly sort of smirk. “Maybe I have been teaching your dog proper manners. He’s shaping up to being a real gentleman. Not the first time I’ve taught a Kogane to behave. Isn’t that right Kos? Huh? Huh? Isn’t that right, handsome boy?” 

Kosmo leapt up and danced around Shiro, his tail wagging excitedly behind him. It seemed as though they both forgot about Kos’s leash -- a few playful circles and Shiro’s ankles and legs had been tied. Shiro’s eyes widened as his balance shifted, arms nearly pinwheeling to keep himself on his feet. However, one more leap from Kosmo had tipped the scales. With a yelp, Shiro began to fall backwards -- but instead of ground, he felt the firm impact of Keith’s chest, and the hook of Keith’s arms beneath his own. 

There was only a beat of silence before Shiro broke into laughter. He didn't even attempt to stand, sagging against Keith’s grip, his legs still tied with Kosmo’s leash. Shiro tipped his head up to look Keith in the eyes and gave a hearty sort of giggle, eyes closed. It was the first time he really laughed in… in a long, long time. 

“You saved me,” Shiro laughed as Keith eased him down to sit on the pavement of the parking lot. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth -- trying his damndest not to snort. 

“Not the first time,” Keith murmured as Kosmo jumped up at Shiro, making Keith grunt as he was carrying both of their weights at once. He barked up at the two of them, learning over and starting to kiss at Shiro’s jaw and cheek, tail wagging excitedly.

Shiro parted his lips to respond, but before he could, a distant click and a flash of a camera echoed through the quiet parking facility. 

He tensed, leaning up quick and turning his head to where the flash had come from. A low, muttered curse left his lips as he spotted the culprit -- some paparazzi dressed in black, already running to the staircase. Even without the leash, Shiro couldn’t hope to catch up with him. 

“Damnit,” Shiro groaned, slumping up against Keith again, his laughter gone. “I’m sorry. I forgot how bad they were… I do anything and it gets plastered all over the internet.” 

“It’s whatever,” Keith muttered, dropping the leash and watching it automatically retract, following the course of the string about a turn and a half around Shiro’s legs before stopping. Pushing Shiro back upright and trying to support his weight still, calling for Kosmo to settle back down, Keith untangled the leash before picking it up.

As much as he hated it, he’d rather be inside and away from the cameras than anything else.  
“Let’s head inside,” he said, Kosmo tapping his feet as he waited excitedly to be allowed to go in. Somewhere with so many new people and smells was naturally going to be exciting for him. At least someone was going to be enjoying this trip, though with the way people typically acted around Kosmo, even he would lose his excitement soon.

Shiro nodded, steadying himself on his feet and smoothing down his shirt. “Yeah,” he sighed, still nodding his head as he started to the elevators that brought them into the building. “Hopefully this day just gets easier from here on, right?”

It didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story isn't over just yet, but the rate of updates will have to slow down from here out. Sorry!!


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